"At four o'clock."
"And what did you tell her?"
"That your Excellency usually returned about half-past six and nearly always went out about eight to dinner."
"Ah!" exclaimed Lucio Sabini.
With a gesture he dismissed the man. Scarcely was he gone when Lucio rose, a prey to a vain agitation; he went up and down the room as if seeking something he found not, but without really looking for it; he gazed around with dazed eyes, as if to question the farthest corners of the vast room, he stumbled against some piece of furniture without being aware of it, and touched two or three objects without seeing them, replacing them where he had found them. Inevitably he returned to his writing-table, his glance settled on the closed envelope without the stamp, over which spread Lilian Temple's large, flexible handwriting.
"She is here ... she is here——" he exclaimed desperately. Twice he took the letter, turned it over, made as if to open it with a rapid, despairing gesture; the second time he threw it down on the table as if it burnt him. He passed into the adjacent room, his bedroom, and turned on the light. The room seemed rather gay with its bright and fresh-coloured Liberty silk, bright brass bed, fine lace curtains and partières, and the lacquered wood of soft grey. He made for a small desk, opened its largest drawer and drew it forth. It was full of Lilian Temple's letters, written on fine sheets of foreign paper, very voluminous in character, which were crossed horizontally and vertically. Beneath them a large envelope was hidden where surely would be a portrait, or perhaps several portraits, of Lilian Temple; but quite in the front of the drawer there was a large bundle of unopened letters, like the one he had left on his writing-table in the salotto. With a slightly trembling hand he pushed back all the leaves which were issuing in confusion from their opened envelopes and passed them to the back, hiding especially the large wrapper with the photograph, from which he averted his eyes. He separated all the unopened letters, and counted them twice, as if he thought that he was mistaken. There were fourteen. Fourteen letters from Lilian Temple which he had not opened: he looked at the one which seemed the oldest in date, and he seemed to read on the English stamp the date of the 26th of December. In three months Lilian had written him fourteen letters which he had not read, because he had not opened them; and the last ones he had thrown away so rapidly without looking at them that he had not even the stamp or date of departure. For some moments he stood by the open drawer. An agonising uncertainty was to be read on his face: two or three times he made as if to take the closed packet of letters and open one, or some, or all of them; but two or three times he hesitated and repented. At last he shrugged his shoulders roughly, pushed back the drawer and closed it. A dull noise at his shoulder made him turn round:
"Miss Ford is asking from the 'Savoy' if Signor Lucio Sabini has returned, and if he can receive her at once," demanded Francesco.
"Did you reply that I had returned?" asked Lucio, biting his lips a little.
"I replied that your Excellency had returned," said Francesco, "but nothing else."
"Say that I am expecting Miss Ford at once."