Vittorio’s expression became almost a grimace. The curt laugh rang out harshly.
“Aha, it is the old music complex, is it? So we have put our finger upon the little, hungry place that shrieks for fame. Anne, the most exquisite amateur in the world, prefers vicarious success to none at all!”
Her anger melted as she met his suffering eyes.
“That is rather brutal, Vittorio, but very possibly true. Whatever my motive is, the fact remains that I am pledged.”
Her weary candor disarmed him. He stooped and placed his hand upon hers.
“Carissima, it is not yet too late. No man, especially no genius, is worth the sacrifice you intend making. Let him go his own way. After all, one musician more or less will make no great difference to the world, which is well stocked with such as he. But women like you are rare.”
She looked up at him impatiently. “Oh, Vittorio, why do you insist upon placing me on a pedestal? If I am chaste, it is not from principle, but from—repulsion.” She shivered a little. “After all, I’m not a virgin being thrown to the minotaur, you know.” Her laugh was unsteady.
She clasped her hands more firmly.
“But what is there about this man which persuades you against your shrinking flesh? What spell has he cast over you that the rest of us have neglected?”
Anne removed her hands from his hold and pressed them to her breast, in a dramatic gesture, unlike herself.