She started violently. 'What? You here? I was just going up to you. It is five o'clock.'
'It wants a minute or two yet to the hour. I was hurrying on to receive you. Forgive me.'
'But you seem quite upset and very pale. Where were you coming from?'
She frowned slightly, regarding him fixedly through her veil.
'From my stables,' Andrea replied, meeting her look unblushingly as though he had not a drop of blood left to send to his face. 'A horse that I thought a great deal of has been hurt in the knee—the fault of the jockey—and now it will not be able to run in the Derby on Sunday. It has annoyed and upset me very much. Please forgive me, I over-stayed the time without noticing it. But it is still a few minutes to five.'
'It does not matter. Good-bye. I am going back.'
They had reached the Piazza del Trinità. She stopped and held out her hand. A furrow still lingered between her brows. With all her great sweetness of temper, she occasionally had moments of angry impatience and petulancy that seemed to transform her into another creature.
'No, Maria—come, be kind! I am going up now to wait for you. Go on as far as the gates of the Pincio and then come back. Will you?'
The clock of the Trinità de' Monti begun to strike.
'You hear that?' he added.