After leaving the Palazzo Romanelli that night I resolved to “fade out” and watch.
Now Admiral the Marquis Romanelli, who was in charge of the important port of Naples, had, during the late war, returned to his position as a high naval officer, and with all his patriotism as the head of a noble Roman house, had done his level best against the enemy until the proclamation of peace.
Wherever one went one heard loud praises of “Torquato,” as he was affectionately called by his Christian name by the populace.
After due consideration I decided that we should move from Naples to the pretty little town of Salerno at the other end of the blue bay, and there at the Hôtel d’Angleterre, facing the sapphire sea, I spent several delightful days with the girl I so passionately loved.
“I cannot see the reason for all this inquiry, Mr. Hargreave,” she said one evening, as we were walking by the moonlit sea after we had dined and Madame had retired. “Why should father wish you to watch the Marchesa so narrowly? How can she concern him? They are strangers.”
I was silent for a few seconds.
“Your father’s business is a confidential one, no doubt. He has his own views, and I am, after all, his secretary and servant.”
“I—I often wish you were not,” the girl blurted forth.
“Why?” I asked in surprise.