“With an Englishman,” he answered. “Arnoldo saw them together several times when in Livorno last week.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Armytage—Charles Armytage. He—”
“Charles Armytage!” her ladyship echoed, starting from her chair. “And he is in love with Gemma?”
“No doubt he is. He intends to marry her.”
“But they must never marry—never!” she cried quickly. “They must be parted immediately, or our secret will at once be out.”
“How? I don’t understand,” he said, with a puzzled expression. “Surely Gemma, of all persons, is still friendly disposed? She owes much to us.”
“Certainly,” Lady Marshfield answered. “But was she not present with Vittorina on that memorable night in Livorno? Did she not witness with her own eyes that which we witnessed?”
“Well, what of that? We have nothing to fear from her.”
“Alas! we have. A word from her would expose the whole affair,” the wizen-faced woman declared. “By some means or other we must part her from Armytage.”