“Inez in love! Ferdy, you are crazy! Who is it, and where did she meet him?”
“I don’t know—she would not tell me, but it is some one she has met over here.”
“I don’t believe a word of it. She must have said it to make you understand that she could not marry you.”
Ferdinand shook his head. “No. A girl could fool me on some things, I suppose; but when she speaks as Inez spoke she means every word she says. ‘I do love some one else,’ she said, ‘and I love him better than my life.’ Do you think Inez would say that if she did not mean it, Helen?”
Helen leaned against the arm of the settle. “I don’t understand it, Ferdy—I don’t understand it.”
“But I do, and I am not strong enough to see her again or to stay here in Florence. I will not trouble her again unless she sends for me—anything sent in care of Coutts will always reach me. Or after she is married, and I am myself again, I would like to see her and congratulate—him. Forgive me, Helen, I am all unstrung to-night. Good-bye.”
De Peyster was gone before Helen realized it. She sank upon the settle and rested her face on her hand. Inez in love, and with some one she had met in Italy! Who was it—when was it? She had come directly to the villa upon her arrival. She had said that she had met no one who interested her on the steamer. In Florence she had met no one otherwise than casually. All her time had been spent either with her or with Jack. Helen lifted her head suddenly. “With Jack,” she repeated to herself. She rose quickly and looked off into the distance. The last bright rays were disappearing behind San Miniato. “I love him better than my life,” Inez had said to Ferdinand. Helen grasped the railing of the balustrade for support. “With Jack!” she repeated again. “Oh no, no, no—not that!” she cried aloud—“not that!”