"Then go into a monastery and do no more mischief," returned the friend. She was a woman.
"I am no saint," Julius would say, "but I will try to be." And ever he tried and failed again.
They sat upon the terrace in the cool of the early night, with their coffee and their cigarettes. There was a lull in their conversation, the result of having talked so much at table.
"A propos of contentment," said Marcantonio, "we are very discontented people. We are going to Rome to-morrow, or the next day."
Batiscombe was surprised. He paused with his coffee cup in one hand and his cigarette in the other, as though expecting more.
"Of course it is only for a day or two," continued Marcantonio. "We shall return immediately."
"Seriously, Marcantoine," said Leonora, "how long shall we have to stay?"
"Oh—not very long," he said. "I will get the letter. Monsieur Batiscombe will pardon me?" Batiscombe murmured something polite and Marcantonio rose quickly and entered the house.
"Are you really going so soon?" Julius asked in English, when they were alone, and Leonora could see the light in his eyes as he spoke. She looked away, over the starlit sea.
"I am not quite sure," she said. "I think I ought to go."