“Well, I hope it won't be so bad any more,” said Martini kindly. “Dr. Riccardo is taking the case seriously in hand. Perhaps he will be able to make a permanent improvement. And, in any case, the treatment gives relief at the moment. But you had better send to us at once, another time. He would have suffered very much less if we had known of it earlier. Good-night!”
He held out his hand, but she drew back with a quick gesture of refusal.
“I don't see why you want to shake hands with his mistress.”
“As you like, of course,” he began in embarrassment.
She stamped her foot on the ground. “I hate you!” she cried, turning on him with eyes like glowing coals. “I hate you all! You come here talking politics to him; and he lets you sit up the night with him and give him things to stop the pain, and I daren't so much as peep at him through the door! What is he to you? What right have you to come and steal him away from me? I hate you! I hate you! I HATE you!”
She burst into a violent fit of sobbing, and, darting back into the garden, slammed the gate in his face.
“Good Heavens!” said Martini to himself, as he walked down the lane. “That girl is actually in love with him! Of all the extraordinary things——”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE Gadfly's recovery was rapid. One afternoon in the following week Riccardo found him lying on the sofa in a Turkish dressing-gown, chatting with Martini and Galli. He even talked about going downstairs; but Riccardo merely laughed at the suggestion and asked whether he would like a tramp across the valley to Fiesole to start with.