"Will you be so good as to answer a few of my questions, Signor Sabini?"
He looked at her; and his eyes, the eyes of a man who had lived, enjoyed, and suffered much, almost besought her to have mercy. She averted hers naturally and asked:
"Do you remember that you left us, Signor Sabini, on the 20th of September? Do you remember that you told Lilian—the last words on the companion-way of the steamer as you were leaving—that you expected her soon, as soon as possible, in Italy?"
What anguish there was in the man's eyes which were fixed pleadingly on the woman, as if to beseech her to spare him that cup; what anguish as he bowed assent.
The Englishwoman continued coldly: "Afterwards she wrote to you very often from England. You replied promptly and often in long letters. Is that so?"
"It is so," he answered, in a weak voice.
"I don't know Lilian's letters or yours. I know that you always wrote that you wished to see her again, that you would come to England or that she should come to Italy. Is that true?"
"It is true," the man consented, weakly.
There was an instant of silence.