"One never can tell what he will do," broke in Arden, raising himself a little on his elbow, and facing his friend. His eyes were unnaturally brilliant. "He is so eccentric. And Laura must have money—she must have plenty—not that she is extravagant, but you know how she was brought up in the Gerano's house, and I should never have thought of marrying her, but for Uncle Herbert's money."
"You would both have been perfectly happy on a hundred a year," observed Pietro. "People are when they love each other as you do."
Arden's face softened at once, and Ghisleri saw that he was thinking of his wife. He was silent for a few moments.
"That is all very well," he said, suddenly rousing himself again. "That might do so long as I should be there to make life smooth for her. But when she is left alone—especially here—Ghisleri, I do not like to think that she must live here after I am gone—"
"For Heaven's sake do not begin to talk in that way, Arden! It is perfectly absurd. You only have a cold, after all!"
"Perhaps so. I believe I have something worse. Never mind! I was saying that I could not bear to think of her living here without me. It is quite true. No—it is not sentiment—something much more reasonable and real. There are people here who hate us both, who positively hate us, and who will make her life unbearable when there is no one to protect her—the more so, if she is poor. And besides, you know what will happen before long—oh, I cannot think of it!"
Ghisleri did not answer at once, for it was not clear to him how Arden had discovered that he had enemies. But the latter waited for no answer, and went on after a few seconds, still speaking excitedly.
"You see," he said, "how necessary it is that Harry should come—that you should write to him—that he should be made to understand—he must do something for Laura, Ghisleri—he really must."
There was something painful in the persistent repetition of the thought, and then, oddly enough, Pietro started as he heard his own name pronounced almost without an interval, immediately after that of Laura. It sounded very strangely—Laura Ghisleri—he had never thought of it before. A moment later he scorned himself for thinking of it at all.
"My dear Arden," he said, "you are really making yourself ill about nothing. Put it all out of your mind for the present, and remember that I am always ready if you need anything. You have only to send for me, and besides, I shall come every day until you are quite well."