“Ah, that was different, beneath your notice. Only the truth can sting a woman like you. Anne, believe me, if you take a lover you will be very unhappy, I—I dread to think of it.” He bowed his head upon the mantel.
She rose, and approaching him, laid her hand upon his thick, black hair.
“Poor Vittorio, how good you are to me. Much, much too good!”
“I good to you?” he turned beneath the caressing fingers and looked at her in surprise. “But I love you. I would do anything to prevent your suffering. If you will only marry me now, before it is too late, I promise never to demand anything for myself. We will go first to Mexico if you like, and then back home to Italy. It will be just the same as ever between us, only I shall be there to protect you. And with change of scene and distance you will forget all this madness.”
She shook her head dully.
“Oh, no, it is impossible, dear. But why Mexico?” she asked, momentarily diverted.
“Because I want to explore some of the ruins down there. And it is another Egypt, you know, as the idyllic guide books put it. It seems to me that a honeymoon in Mexico, even only a fraternal one,” he added hastily, “would be heavenly.”
With a little moan she turned away and sank into a chair.
“But I can’t. You don’t understand. I’m no longer free. I have promised. If I break my word now I don’t know what will happen to Alexis. He is still very ill. He might lose his music forever, or even die.”
Torrigiani turned about slowly and looked down upon her bowed head. “Do you love this man, Anne?” he inquired with a commanding note in his voice.