There was a deep silence. She gazed into his dark, serious eyes with an expression of love and devotion more eloquent than words; and he, still holding her hand, bent until their lips met in a fierce, passionate caress.
“Surely you do not fear to travel with me without regard for the convenances?” he said.
“Have we not already set them at naught?” she answered, looking earnestly into his face. “Unfortunately, I have no chaperone, no friends; therefore, according to Italian manners, your presence here in my house is against all the laws of etiquette;” and she laughed a strange, hollow laugh through her tears.
“We can, I think, Gemma, set aside etiquette, loving each other as we do!” he exclaimed, pressing her hand. “Let us go together to London, and there marry.”
“Why not marry in Italy?” she suggested, after a pause. “Marriage at your British Consulate is binding.”
The mention of the Consulate brought back to his memory all that Hutchinson had said. Her words seemed to imply that she did not wish to leave Tuscany.
“Why in Italy?” he inquired. “You have no tie here!”
She hesitated for a moment.
“No, none whatever,” she assured him in a voice which sounded strangely harsh and unconvincing. He attributed her agitation to the excitement of the moment and the fervency of her love.
“Then why do you wish to remain?” he inquired bluntly.