“You can ask no questions that I am not ready to answer fully,” said Hugh.
Rosa kissed Violante, and sent her upstairs, with a decision that admitted of no question. Then she picked up her wreath, and asked Hugh to sit down, while he forestalled her by saying:
“Miss Mattei, you are aware of the misunderstanding under which I left Civita Bella, and of the repulse I received from your father? I hope he will give me a different answer now.”
“Indeed, Mr Crichton, there have been a great many misunderstandings. Is it only now that you have discovered your mistake?”
“No, Miss Mattei,” said Hugh, colouring, “it is some weeks since I have felt certain that I was mistaken. But if you know in how much trouble we have been during we past year—and—and my share in it, you will, perhaps, understand that it was my cousin Arthur’s discovery of my secret and his encouragement which has made me venture here now.”
Rosa was softened.
“Ah, yes, Violante told me,” she said.
“I could not have raised any discussion about myself at such a time. I don’t think you like protestations, Miss Mattei, but I think a year is long enough to test our constancy, and surely—surely, Signor Mattei’s objections can no longer exist.”
“No, she must choose for herself now. Mr Crichton, I’m afraid I am very ungracious,” said Rosa warmly; “but I have been so anxious for Violante. I know this will be best for her, if—if nothing now comes in the way.”
“Nothing can—nothing shall. And Signor Mattei?”