He looked at her, and the blood rose and fell quickly in his cheeks, and his hands moved uneasily as he clasped them upon one of his knees.
"You must think that I have a very poor memory," observed Veronica, still smiling, not intentionally, but because she was young enough, and therefore cruel enough, to be amused by his embarrassment. "The last time I saw you was at the theatre, I think—at the opening night, last week—ten days ago—when was it?"
"Yes," he answered quickly. "That was the last time I saw you; but the last time we spoke was at the San Giuliano's."
"Was it? I do not remember. We have often talked—a little—at different places."
"I remember very well," said Gianluca, with a good deal of emphasis and looking earnestly at her.
Veronica tried to recall the conversation on the occasion to which he referred, but could not remember a word of it.
"Did I say anything especial, that time?" she asked, wondering whether she had then unfortunately answered 'yes,' in a fit of absence of mind, to some question of hidden import which he had perhaps addressed to her.
"Oh yes!" he answered promptly. "You told me that you liked white roses better than red ones. You see, I have a good memory."
"That was a tremendously important statement." Veronica laughed, somewhat relieved by the information.
"I always remember everything you say," said Gianluca. "I think I know by heart all you have ever said to me."