"Marchese," she said, "I had meant to leave this letter with your mother. I was told you were in Milan. It—it is from—my husband.... Wait!" she cried almost imperiously, as she saw the recoil of his whole figure. "You must listen—you must understand. He ... my husband ... has been very ill. This ... this letter is an apology, Marchese—an apology to you."
Amaldi bowed formally, and took the letter. His face was inscrutable. He started to put the envelope unopened into his pocket.
Sophy, flushing deeply, murmured:
"Won't you even read it?"
Amaldi bowed again.
"There is no need," he said. "An apology offered in this manner"—his tone was rather bitter—"I accept without reading."
Sophy stood silent; then her head went down a little.
"I ... I thank you," she whispered.
A quick change came over Amaldi's face; but she was looking down on the flagged walk and did not see it.
"Do you go soon now?" he asked, his voice almost as low as hers.