"What's more, he has feared this ever since I came; I feel sure of it. When I was coming back from Pompeii, he took me with him to Amalfi all but by force. He dreaded my returning and seeing you."
"But why should he think of such a thing?"
"Why?"
Elgar led her a few paces, until they stood before a mirror.
"Don't look at me. The other face, which is a little paler than it should be."
She hid it against him.
"But you don't love me for my face only? You will see others who have more beauty."
"Perhaps so. Mallard hopes so, in the long time we shall have to wait."
She fixed startled eyes on him.
"He cannot wish me so ill—he cannot! That would be unlike him."