"Do not swear, Vittorio," she replied at once, "I know it."
"Ah, they calumniated me, they defamed me, they dishonoured me. Mabel!" he exclaimed, falling into an arm-chair, "I swear to you that they are lies, infamous lies."
"I know," she replied with a softness in her firm, clear voice, "that they are lies."
"Ah, my consoler, my friend, my delight," he said, with a sigh, taking her hands, drawing her to him, and embracing her and kissing her on her forehead, and eyes, and cheeks.
She allowed herself to be embraced and kissed, but with a gracious movement she freed herself from him, and they sat side by side on one of the large sofas, beneath a great Musa plant.
"Do you still love me, Mabel?" he asked anxiously.
"I am very fond of you, dear," she replied tranquilly.
"Why have you caused me such suffering, dear, dear Mabel, in not writing or telegraphing to me?"
"I was travelling to Rome," she explained.
"But when did you start?" he asked, already disquieted.