“No,” he replied firmly. “When I leave Italy, I shall not return.” Then, after a slight pause, he added in a low, sympathetic tone, “Some secret oppresses you. Gemma. Why not take me into your confidence?”
“Because—well, because it is utterly impossible.”
“Impossible! Yet, we love one another. Is your past such a profound secret, then?”
“All of us, I suppose, have our secrets, Nino,” she replied earnestly. “I, like others, have mine.”
“Is it of such a character that I, your affianced husband, must not know?” he asked in a voice of bitter reproach.
“Yes,” she answered nervously. “Even to you, the man I love, I am unable to divulge the strange story which must remain locked for ever within my heart.”
“Then you have no further confidence in me?”
“Ah! Yes, I have, Nino. It is my inability to tell everything, to explain myself, and to present my actions to you in a true light, that worries me so.”
“But why can’t you tell me everything?” he demanded.
“Because I fear to.”