"To the church steps, Mr. Hillard," she said.
He followed her meekly. Merrihew sulked among the cushions.
The solitary electric lamp in the Campo made light enough; and when the two arrived at the steps the woman turned.
"What is it you wish?" she asked. There was not the slightest agitation in her voice; there was not even curiosity.
"One look at your face," he answered simply.
She slowly removed the veil. Then, for the first time, he looked upon the face of this woman who had burdened his dreams. The face was not like any he had conjured. It seemed to him that Vecchio's—Paola Vecchio's—Barbara had stepped down from her frame: beauty, tranquil, flawless beauty. A minute passed; he was incapable of speech, he could only look.
"Well?" she said, in the same expressionless tone.
"Let us begin at the beginning," he replied, with an effort to imitate the evenness of her tone.
"Since this is to be the end."
"Why did you answer my personal in the first place? Why did you not ignore it? I should have been left in peace."