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We men ain't disloyal, anyhow," he consoled her. She smiled at him pathetically, and his pale blue eyes, like those of a faded Dresden china shepherd, returned her look with ecstasy. "That wretched boy will marry the woman," was the thought that jumped into Vanno's mind.
Vanno's infatuation for the girl did not seem a light thing to the curé, and he thought of it anxiously, hoping and sometimes believing that the young man would be strong enough to hold himself aloof, unless Miss Grant should show herself worthy of a noble, not a degrading, love.
The ground that he had set his heart upon was close to the curé's garden, and it belonged to Achille Gonzales. Already, at Vanno's request, the curé had interviewed both Achille and the older Gonzales.
"I was going to tell you," he went on, "of a strange thing, and a lady unknown to me, who called here. She was from England, I should say." Vanno's heart gave a quick throb. "Could it be possible?" he wondered, "Was she young and beautiful?" he asked aloud. But the answer dashed his rather childish hope. "Not beautiful, and not a girl, but young still. 'Striking' would be the word to express her.
"Idina Bland" was the name Vanno had ejaculated, on hearing her description; and he had gone on to say that she was a distant relative, who had lived for some time in Rome and at Monte Della Robbia. Certainly Vanno's surprise at hearing of her presence on the Riviera, and her questions concerning the family, had not been of an agreeable nature.
Before any one thought of this place, she would perhaps have gone; and though when she began Vanno's letter she had not decided where to go, before she finished her mind was made up. The one spot in which she could endure to live out the rest of her life was the Convent of St. Ursula-of-the-Lake. "I ought never to have come away," she said.
It would be a thousand times worse than before, if he found out. It would mean my death, that's all. I couldn't look into his eyes, his dear, beautiful eyes that adore me, that I adore. You haven't seen him yet. But you know Vanno's eyes, and what it would be to see them turn cold after they have been stars of love. That expresses them." "Yes, that expresses them," Mary almost whispered.
It was almost impossible to believe her the same woman who had sobbed behind a disguising veil in Rose Winter's drawing-room, begging Mary to swear by Vanno's love never to betray her secret. And it seemed equally incredible that this mirthful and charming girl could have such a secret to hide. Mary tried to forget.
Princess Della Robbia rose, her left arm thrust into her big ermine muff, so that her right hand might be free if it must be given in greeting. But she did not step forward as if eager to greet Vanno's fiancée. "Princess Della Robbia?" Mary said, rather shyly. "How good of you to come to see me." She put out her hand and took that of the Princess.
I've plenty of time though. I shall take a taxi. I hope you haven't been waiting long?" "More than two hours. I would not go even to oblige the waiters." "Two hours! Then " "Yes. It was that, my Principino. I had to see you. I have come to make you a reproach. You know why?" Vanno's face hardened slightly. "I can imagine. Who told you? Angelo?" "Who told me what?"
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