And Gemma, clinging to her lover, gazed imploringly into his face, adding—“Yes, caro. Let them speak to me alone.”
“No,” the young Englishman answered firmly.
“But the matter is a delicate one—extremely delicate,” urged the delegato. “I certainly think that the signorina should be allowed to decide whether or not you should be present.”
“In a week or so we shall marry,” declared Armytage. “What concerns signorina also concerns myself.”
“To please me, caro, will you not go out of the room for a moment?” Gemma cried in a low voice of earnest supplication.
Her attitude was that of one who feared the revelation of some terrible secret, and in those moments her lover had become filled with a keen desire to penetrate the cloak of mystery which enveloped her.
“No,” he answered her, after a brief silence; “I have decided to remain and hear what the signor delegato has to say.”
The police official and the trembling woman exchanged quick glances. In the officer’s gaze was a look of sympathy, for perhaps her beauty had softened his impressionable Italian nature; in her blue eyes was an expression of humiliation and abject fear.
“My mission is very quickly accomplished,” the delegato exclaimed slowly.
“You intend to arrest!” Gemma cried hoarsely. “I—I have dreaded this for a long time past. I knew that, one day or other, you would come for me, and my reputation would be ruined for ever.”