'It's going to be frightfully hot to-day,' she said, looking round her with a troubled face at the glaring road, at the dusty patch of vines beyond it, at the burnt grass below the garden wall. 'Mr. Manisty!—you will make Eleanor go next Friday?—you won't let her put it off—for anything?'
She turned to him, in entreaty, the colour dyeing her pure cheek and throat.
'I will do what I can. I understand your anxiety,' he said stiffly.
She opened the old door of the courtyard and passed in before him. As he rejoined her, she asked him in a low voice—
'Have you any more news?'
'Yes. I found a letter at Selvapendente last night. The state of things is better. There will be no need I hope to alarm Eleanor—for the present.'
'I am so glad!'—The voice hurried and then paused. 'And of course, for you too,' she added, with difficulty.
He said nothing, and they walked up to the inner door in silence. Then as they paused on the threshold, he said suddenly, with a bitter accent—
'You are very devoted!'
She looked at him in surprise. Her young figure drew itself erect. 'That isn't wonderful—is it?—with her?'