“Yes, I love affection. But—there’s something else, too. I love to be trusted. I’m not curious. I hate to pry into people’s affairs. But I love to feel that I am trusted, that those I trust and care for would never keep me in the dark—”
She thought again of Emile and of the night and her outburst.
“The dark, Signora?”
“Don’t you understand what I mean? When you are in the dark you can’t see anything. You can’t see the things you ought to see.”
“You are not in the dark, Signora.”
He spoke rather stupidly, and looked towards the lamp, as if he misunderstood her explanation. But she knew his quickness of mind too well to be deceived.
“Gaspare,” she said, “I don’t know whether you are going to be frank with me, but I am going to be frank with you. Sit down for a minute, and—please shut the door first.”
He looked at her, looked down, hesitated, then went slowly to the door, and shut it softly. Hermione was sitting on the sofa when he turned. He came back and stood beside her.
“Si, Signora?”
“I’d rather you sat too, Gaspare.”