Before the hour at which we usually stopped work I arose from my chair, and stated that that would be all for the day. My secretary looked at me quickly.
"All for to-day?" she asked, a little smile of disapprobation upon her brow. "It cannot be twelve o'clock yet."
"No," I answered, "it is not; but it is not easy to work out the answer which Lucilla ought now to make to Tomaso, and I shall have to take time for its consideration."
"I shouldn't think it would be easy," said she, "but I hoped you had it already in your mind."
"Then you are interested in it?" I asked.
"Of course I am," she answered,—"who wouldn't be? And just at this point, too, when everything depends on what she says; but it is quite right for you to be very careful about what you make her say," and she gathered her sheets together to lay them away.
Now I wanted to say something to her. I stopped work for that purpose, but I did not know what to say. An apology for my conduct of the day before would not be exactly in order, and an explanation of it would be exceedingly difficult. I walked up and down my study, and she continued to arrange her pages. When she had put them into a compact and very neat little pile, she opened the table drawer, placed them in it, examined some other contents of the drawer, and finally closed it, and sat looking out of the window. After some minutes of this silent observation, she half turned toward me, and without entirely removing her gaze from the apple-tree outside, she asked:—
"Do you still want to know my name?"
"Indeed I do!" I exclaimed, stepping quickly to the grating.
"Well, then," she said, "it is Sylvia."