Her lips still trembled. Maurice looked at her doubtfully, yet with a sudden tenderness. Always when she looked troubled, even for an instant, there came to him the swift desire to protect her, to shield her.
"But why should you care for me?" he said. "It is better not. For I am going away, and probably you will never see me again."
Tears came into Maddalena's eyes. He did not know whether they were summoned by his previous roughness or his present pathos. He wanted to know.
"Probably I shall never come back to Sicily again," he said, with pressure.
She said nothing.
"It will be better not," he added. "Much better."
Now he was speaking for himself.
"There's something here, something that I love and that's bad for me. I'm quite changed here. I'm like another man."
He saw a sort of childish surprise creeping into her face.
"Why, signorino?" she murmured.