“I come inconveniently! You have not dined, perhaps?”
“Yes, Yes. I've had dinner. Sit down. How have you been yourself?”
“Oh, always well.” Belsky sat down, and the friends stared at each other. “I have strange news for you.”
“For me?”
“You. She is here.”
“She?”
“Yes. The young girl of whom you told me. If I had not forbidden myself by my loyalty to you—if I had not said to myself every moment in her presence, 'No, it is for your friend alone that she is beautiful and good!'—But you will have nothing to reproach me in that regard.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Gregory.
“I mean that Miss Claxon is in Florence, with her protectress, the rich Mrs. Lander. The most admired young lady in society, going everywhere, and everywhere courted and welcomed; the favorite of the fashionable Miss Milray. But why should this surprise you?”
“You said nothing about it in your letters. You—”