“Poor Nino!” she exclaimed sympathetically in her soft Italian, putting up her tiny hand and stroking his hair tenderly. Nino was the pet name she had long ago bestowed upon him. “Poor Nino! I didn’t know you were worried, or I would not have complained. Excuse, won’t you?”
“Of course, dearest,” he answered, sinking a trifle wearily into a chair; whilst she, regarding him with some surprise, reseated herself upon the divan, her little russet-brown shoe stretched forth coquettishly from beneath the hem of her well-made skirt.
The room was small, but artistic. Its cosiness and general arrangement everywhere betrayed the daily presence of an artistic woman; and as he sat there with his eyes fixed upon her, he became intoxicated by her marvellous beauty. There was a softness about her face, an ingenuous sweetness which always entranced him, holding him spell-bound when in her presence.
“You are tired,” she said in a low, caressing tone. “Will you have some vermouth or marsala? Let me tell Margherita to bring you some.”
“No,” he answered quickly; “I had a vermouth at Campari’s as I passed. I’m a trifle upset to-day.”
“Why?” she inquired quickly, regarding him with some astonishment.
He hesitated. His eyes were riveted upon her. The sun-shutters were closed, the glare of day subdued, and he was debating whether or not he should relate to her in that dim half-light all that had been told him an hour ago. In those brief moments of silence he remembered how, on the afternoon he had encountered Tristram at Pancaldi’s, she had expressed surprise that he should love her so blindly, without seeking to inquire into her past. He remembered his foolish reply. He had told her he wished to know nothing. If he demanded any explanation now, it would convince her that he doubted. Yes, Hutchinson’s advice was best. At present he must act diplomatically, and remain silent.
“The reason why I am not myself to-day is because I must leave you, Gemma,” he said slowly at last, in a low, earnest voice.
“Leave me!” she gasped, starting and turning pale beneath her veil.
“Yes,” he replied quickly. “It is imperative that I should start for Paris to-night.”