So Ghisleri was sitting beside Bianca on that morning, in her garden, when there was a sound of wheels, behind the house; and then, unannounced, as one familiar with the place, Veronica Serra came swiftly down the walk towards the pair. Ghisleri rose to his feet,—a tall, fair man, sunburnt, lean and strong, with bright blue eyes,—and Bianca turned in her chair, with a smile, and held out her hand, as she sat, to the young girl.
"You do not mind?" asked Veronica, smiling innocently. "Am I not interrupting you?"
"No, dear—no." A very faint dawn of colour rose in Bianca's almost unnatural pallor.
"Something so strange has happened," said Veronica.
Then she nodded to Pietro Ghisleri, realizing that she had forgotten him. He moved forward for her the chair on which he had been sitting, while he continued to stand. Veronica had often met him there before.
"Donna Veronica has something to say to you," he said to Bianca. "If you will allow me, I will go up to the stable and look at that dog."
Bianca nodded, as though it were a matter of course that Pietro should look after her dogs when there was anything the matter with them, and Veronica sat down. Her expression was strange, Bianca thought, as though she did not know whether to laugh or cry. Yet she looked fresh and well and not tired. The girl told her story in half a dozen words, as soon as Ghisleri was out of hearing.
"They want me to marry Bosio," she said, and then drew breath, holding both of Bianca's hands and looking into her eyes.
"You? Marry Bosio Macomer? Oh! no—Veronica—no!"
Bianca's voice expressed the greatest apprehension, for Veronica was almost her only intimate friend. Veronica seemed surprised.