"It's a rash promise, but I'll chance it," he answered, smoothing her hair and smiling down into her upturned face.
"Geoffrey, he is in London. I have seen him."
He looked a little surprised, but he did not draw away.
"Seen him! Where? When?"
"Do you remember the day when I was to have called for you at the 'Travelers,' and you waited for me, and I did not come? Yes, I know that you do. Well, I did come, really, but as I sat in the carriage waiting, I took up the Morning Post and I read an advertisement there, signed by the manager of the Continental Hotel. It was inquiring for any friend or relative of Count Leonardo di Marioni, who was lying there dangerously ill and alone. Geoffrey, of course I ought to have waited for you, but I am impulsive sometimes, and I was then. I thought that if I could see him alone for the first time, that I might win his forgiveness, and so I drove there at once. They showed me into his room; he was sitting over the fire, a miserable, shrunken little figure, wasted to a shadow. Ah, how my heart ached to see him. Geoffrey, I knelt by his side; I spoke to him as tenderly as I could to one of my own children; and then he turned a white corpse-like face upon me, and spoke words which God grant I may some day forget. I do not believe that human lips have ever framed such hideous curses. How I got down to the carriage, I do not know. You are not angry with me, Geoffrey?"
"Angry? why no, love," he answered tenderly. "You did it for the best. What a vindictive little beggar."
"Geoffrey, I can't help thinking that some day, if he recovers, he will try to do you or me a mischief."
Lord St. Maurice laughed outright.
"We are not in Sicily," he answered lightly.
"What could he do to either of us? Am I not big enough to protect myself, and take care of you? I tell you what, Adrienne, why shouldn't I go and see him when I am in London next week?"