“You think. She had a very distinct memory of meeting you, at any rate”—with a little scornful laugh. “If you were her bosom friend her greeting could not have been warmer.”
“Mere Celtic impulsiveness. One meets with as much warmth in the south of Ireland. Hotel waiters have the air of clansmen, who would shed their blood for us. Hotel acquaintances seem as old friends.”
“How did you come to know this girl—peasant born, as you say?”
“She was in a factory, and I was going over the factory, and I talked to her, and she told me her troubles, and I was interested and——The same sort of thing happens a dozen times on a Continental tour. You don’t want chapter and verse, I hope. That memory is immeshed in a tangle of other memories. I should only deceive you if I went into particulars.”
He had recovered himself by this time, and the colour had come slowly back to his face. Eve sat dumbly watching him as he bent over the sculls, rowing faster than he need have done, much faster than on the other side of the lock. He was ready to lie with an appalling recklessness if he could by so doing set up a barrier of falsehood between his wife and the true story of that night in Venice. He looked at her presently, and saw that she was troubled. He smiled, but there was no answering smile.
“My darling, you are not by way of being jealous, I hope,” he said gaily. “You are not unhappy because a peasant girl held out her hands to me.”
“Signora Vivanti has been long enough in England to know that a woman does not behave in that way to an almost stranger,” said Eve. “Why did you look frightened at the sound of her voice when the boat came out of the lock? Why did you turn pale when she spoke to you?”
“Did I really turn pale? I suppose I was a little scared at her demonstrative address, fearing lest it should offend you. One has time to think of so many contingencies in a few moments. But I did not imagine you would take the matter so very seriously. Come, dearest, I think you know I have but one divinity below the stars, and worship at only one shrine.”
“Now, perhaps—but what do I know of the past?”
“If in the past I have admired and even fancied I loved women less admirable than yourself, be sure this woman was not one of them. No ghost of a dead love looks out of her eyes, beautiful as they are.”