“Certainly.”
“You think she would come near a man she will not even speak of?”
“What!”
“She won’t speak of you. She has told me nothing about last night. That is why I know so much.”
“She has not—the Signorina has—not—?”
He stopped. A smile went over his face. It was sufficiently obvious that he understood Vere’s silence as merely a form of deceit, a coquettish girl’s cold secret from her mother.
“Signora, give me permission to speak to your daughter, and you will see whether it is you—or I—who understands her best.”
“Very well, Marchese.”
Hermione rang the bell. It was answered by Gaspare.
“Gaspare,” said Hermione, “please go to the Signorina, tell her the Signor Marchese is here, and wishes very much to see her before he goes.”