He pointed towards the distant lights behind her and before him.
“Opposite. I was to have stayed with Ulford in Casa Felice. I’m staying with him over there.”
“With Sir Donald?”
“Yes. He’s ill. He wants somebody.”
“Sir Donald’s afraid of me now,” she said, watching him closely. “I told him to live with his memory of me. Will he do that?”
“I think he will. Poor old chap! he’s had hard knocks. They’ve made him afraid of life.”
“Why didn’t you keep your memory of me?” she said, with sudden nervous anger. “You too? If you hadn’t come to-night it would never have been destroyed.”
Her extreme tension of the nerves impelled her to an exhibition of fierce bitterness which she could not control. She remembered how he had loved her, with what violence and almost crazy frankness. Why had he come? He might have remembered her as she was.
“I hate you for coming,” she said, almost under her breath.
“I don’t care. I had to come.”