“Because you think it’s all a mistake? Yes, I know that. Perhaps it is; but if it is, it’s a magnificent one. If you were scared about me three or four months ago, I don’t know what you would think to-day—if you knew! I have risked everything.”
“Fortunately I don’t know,” said Hyacinth.
“No, indeed, how should you?”
“And to tell the truth,” he went on, “that is really the reason I haven’t been back here till to-night. I haven’t wanted to know—I have feared and hated to know.”
“Then why did you come at last?”
Hyacinth hesitated a moment. “Out of a kind of inconsistent curiosity.”
“I suppose then you would like me to tell you where I have been to-night, eh?”
“No, my curiosity is satisfied. I have learned something—what I mainly wanted to know—without your telling me.”
She stared an instant. “Ah, you mean whether Madame Grandoni was gone? I suppose Assunta told you.”
“Yes, Assunta told me, and I was sorry to hear it.”