“Very soon. In a few days, or a few weeks. When, I know not. Very soon I must return to England.”
“To England!” he cried. “I thought you preferred your own Italy!”
“I have an object in going back,” she answered ambiguously.
“You’ll let me accompany you?”
She reflected for a moment; then, without responding, rose, rang the bell, and told the man-servant, who entered resplendent in the blue Funaro livery, to bring her visitor some wine.
“You must be half famished after your journey,” she exclaimed. She was standing before him in a white gown, white from head to foot. “I must really apologise for not being more hospitable, Nino.”
“I’m really not hungry,” he replied. Then he added, “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I was reflecting,” she responded slowly. “I don’t know whether it is wise at this juncture for you to return to England, into the very midst of your enemies.”
“You haven’t yet explained who my enemies are, beyond urging me to be wary of Malvano. True, that man has lied to me about you. He told me a silly, romantic, and wholly fictitious story regarding your parentage; but, after all, he may have been mistaken, especially as it was in answer to my inquiry whether he knew any one named Fanetti in Florence.”
“Malvano was well aware that I had used that name more than once,” his well-beloved replied. “He wilfully deceived you for his own purpose. He wished to part us.”