"In your opinion, Signor Keralio—is my husband a man—of unusual character, or is he—just a man?"
The Italian shrugged his shoulders as he replied deprecatingly:
"My dear madam, just stop and think a moment. Isn't that a rather indiscreet question to put to a man—a man who is a friend of your husband——"
Hotly she turned on him.
"If you are his friend, why do you vilify and slander him behind his back?"
Keralio lifted up his long slender hands in pious protest.
"I vilify—my best friend—— Oh, my dear Mrs. Traynor—you have quite misunderstood me. I am a foreigner. Perhaps it is that I express myself ill."
She shook her head skeptically. Firmly she said:
"No, Signor Keralio—you express yourself quite plainly. Now, I'll be equally frank with you. I confess there is one thing I do not understand. I have never understood it. I do not understand why my husband, a man so honorable, so straightforward in his dealings, a man so free from intrigue or reckless adventures, so regular, methodical and temperate in his habits, a man so entirely apart from the reckless, immoral kind of life you hint at, should have made a friend of you——"
The Italian raised his eyebrows, but there was only an amused smile on his bloodless lips as he said with a mock bow: