“My, what a night! You found the greatest luxury in the world, which is work,” I said. “Don't go to dissipating like a child with a can of jelly and make yourself sick of it. Go easy. Be temperate.”
“Uncle Soc, you dear old thing!” she exclaimed. “I'm beginning to know you better, too. I want you to tell me something. Father said that we should be going home soon. Now, what can I take to Richard? It must be something very, very nice—something that he will be sure to like.”
“Why take anything to Richard?” I asked. “I refuse to tell you why,” she answered. “But please remember that I have not the slightest hope of every marrying Richard.”
“You have lost your heart in Italy,” I said. “But I was kind o' hoping that you'd recover it.”
“I know that you and father have been worried about that, but you didn't know me so well as you thought. I had heard much about these Italians, and they are handsome men, and the Count Raspagnetti is a very grand gentleman. I have been impressed, for I am as human as other girls, but I cannot marry the count, and if he asks me I shall tell him so; and I can do it with a clear conscience, for I have given him no encouragement.”
I made no answer, being unhorsed by this unexpected turn.
“I do not propose to marry any one, and if you will think for a moment you will know why.”
In a flash her meaning came to me. She'd have to tell her father's secret to the man she married, and that she would never do. Again that old skeleton in the family closet was grinning at us.
“Gwendolyn, my thinker has been worn out by overwork here in Italy or it would not have been asleep at its post,” I said. “I take off my hat to you and keep it off as long as you're near me. Jiminy Christmas! I like the stuff you're made of, but look here—the case isn't hopeless. I'll show you a way out of this trouble some day. Come on, let's go in and have some breakfast. I'm hungry as a bear.”
“No, thanks! I must go back to my patient,” said the girl. “I never eat any breakfast.”