He glared at her. But she met his glare with a smile that disarmed it.
And, in spite of himself, he smiled too.
"Will you start to-morrow?" she asked, softly, coaxingly.
"This is outrageous," he said. "How long do you expect me to stay?"
"Oh, for that," she considered, "I shall be very moderate. A week will do. A diligent sightseer should be able to see Sampaolo pretty thoroughly in a week."
"A week," he calculated, "and I suppose one must allow at least another week for getting there and back. So you exile me for a fortnight?"
His tone and his eyes pleaded with her.
"A fortnight is not much," said she, lightly.
"No," he gloomily acquiesced. "It is only fourteen lifetimes to a man who happens to be in love."
"Men are reputed to be stronger than women," she reproached him, with a look. "If a mere woman can stand a fortnight——!"
Anthony gasped—and sprang towards her.