He flung himself at her feet in his customary gesture of penitence.
“Oh, Anne, forgive me if I seem cruel and suspicious. But are you in love with this man?”
She laid her hand on the tumbled fair hair.
“No, dear, of course not. But I do care for and respect him almost more than any one I know. No one, not even you could ever come between us, and I don’t want you to try.”
He looked at her with tragedy-ridden eyes.
“I have a terrible premonition that you are going to marry Torrigiani some time, and I am ready to kill him when I think of it.”
“Don’t commit any murders as yet!” Her laugh sounded forced. “I am not going to marry him or any other man, yourself included!”
He rose to his feet with the cry of a wounded animal. “You do love him. You cannot hide it from me any longer, Anne. As soon as I leave New York you are going to Italy to meet him. Deny it if you can!”
“Of course I’m going to Italy, Alexis. There could be nothing to keep me here after you go. I am homesick for Florence and my garden. But I’m not going there to meet Vittorio.”
“Yes, you are. And you are afraid to tell me for fear my music will suffer. But it won’t. Nothing can ever take it from me now. Least of all a woman’s whim!”