No doubt Emilio had seen the Signora that morning in the hotel. No doubt there had been a consultation. And probably at this consultation his—the Marchesino’s—fate had been decided.
By Emilio?
At that moment the Marchesino actively, even furiously, hated his former friend.
There was a little noise at the door; the Marchesino turned swiftly, and saw Hermione coming in. He looked eagerly behind her. But the door shut. She was alone. She did not give her hand to him. He bowed, trying to look calm.
“Good-afternoon, Signora.”
Hermione sat down. He followed her example.
“I don’t know why you wish to see me, after yesterday, Marchese,” she said, quietly, looking at him with steady eyes.
“Signora, pardon me, but I should have thought that you would know.”
“What is it?”
“Signora, I am here to ask the great honor of your daughter the Signorina’s hand in marriage. My father, to whom—”