He looked gloomily at her.
“Some day you may be kinder to me.”
“Do you think so?” Her tone was not pleasant. “You will leave us to-morrow, of course, and it is unlikely that we shall often meet again.”
He walked away a few steps and returned.
“I tell you we will!” he said in a sharp passionate voice, which stung Teresa’s anger like a lash. She flung back her head and cried.
“I never wish to see you again.”
“That may be.” His words breathed thickly. “But I will see you.”
A sudden dread of a scene swept over her, and forced self-control.
“Whether we meet or not is of no possible consequence,” she said coolly. “I do not think it would be pleasant, and I hope you will have left Rome when we return. Meanwhile you and Sylvia must get through this evening as best you can. You have misunderstood her hitherto, and I suppose you will misunderstand her to the end.”
She nodded and left him, not without thankfulness that he did not follow. It had been a sharp interview, charged with dangerous feeling, which enraged her against him. The table d’hôte hour was near, and she went to her own room, hoping to find Sylvia sleeping. As she opened the door, however, she heard her chatter.