I loosened her from my embrace.
“You are right,” I said, calmly; “I am glad your instincts are so correct! I have always hated lies.”
“So have I!” she declared, earnestly, with a frank and open look; “I have often wondered why people tell them. They are so sure to be found out!”
I bit my lips hard to shut in the burning accusations that my tongue longed to utter. Why should I damn the actress or the play before the curtain was ready to fall on both? I changed the subject of converse.
“How long do you propose remaining here in retreat?” I asked. “There is nothing now to prevent your returning to Naples.”
She pondered for some minutes before replying, then she said:
“I told the superioress I came here for a week. I had better stay till that time is expired. Not longer, because as Guido is really dead, my presence is actually necessary in the city.”
“Indeed! May I ask why?”
She laughed a little consciously.
“Simply to prove his last will and testament,” she replied. “Before he left for Rome, he gave it into my keeping.”