"It is enough for your father that it would please his brother. He would hate a dog that Don Paolo liked."
"What nonsense!" exclaimed the girl. "It is something else. Papa sees something—something that I do not see. He knows his own affairs, and perhaps he knows yours too, Tista. I have not forgotten the other evening."
"I!" ejaculated the young man, looking up angrily.
"You know very well where I was—at the Circolo Artistico. How do you dare to think—"
"Why are you so angry if there is no one else in the case?" asked Lucia, with a sudden sweetness, which belied the jealous glitter in her eyes.
"It seems to me that I have a right to be angry. That you should suspect me after all these years! How many times have I sworn to you that I went nowhere else?"
"What is the use of your swearing? You do not believe in anything—why should you swear? Why should I believe you?"
"Oh—if you talk like that, I have finished!" answered Gianbattista. "But there—you are only teasing me. You believe me, just as I believe you. Besides, as for swearing and believing in something besides you—who knows? I love you—is not that enough?"
Lucia's eyes softened as they rested on the young man's face. She knew he loved her. She only wanted to be told so once more.
"There is Marzio," said Don Paolo, as a key rattled in the latch of the outer door.