She made Montalto sit down near the small fire, and, to his surprise, she locked the door that led into the ball-room before she seated herself beside him.
‘We might be interrupted,’ she said, in explanation.
‘What is the matter, my dear?’ her husband asked.
‘I have something to tell you,’ she answered. ‘You must be patient with me, Diego. You must try to understand, though it will be hard. I thought I was doing right, but after a long time I am quite sure that it was wrong.’
‘My dear Maria,’ Montalto said, ‘if your intention was good, you did nothing wrong. You only made a mistake.’
‘Thank you.’ She was grateful for the trite words, because she knew that he meant them. ‘When you came home,’ she continued after a short time, ‘I told you that I had seen Baldassare, and that we had parted for ever. You said we need not speak of him again.’
‘Yes.’ Montalto’s face became very grave as he nodded and looked at the fire.
‘What I told you was true,’ she went on. ‘The last time we met, we agreed never to see each other again if we could avoid it. That was quite true. But it gave you a wrong impression. You may have thought that after you had gone away to live in Spain we had only met that once.’
Montalto looked at her with a startled expression, but she met his eyes quietly and honestly.