the echoing confusion in her mind one
note rang clear: she must in the end right herself with Vanno.

It was almost as much for his sake as Marie's, she felt dimly, that she
must keep her promise now and endure this shame, this martyrdom; for
Marie was Angelo's wife, and Angelo was Vanno's beloved brother whose
sorrow would be Vanno's sorrow, whose dishonour would be the family's
dishonour. But as she looked at his ring, through the thick mist of her
tears, Mary comforted herself by saying: "Somehow it must come right. I
can sacrifice myself now, but not for always. In some way I will let
Vanno know."

She thought vaguely, stumblingly, her ideas astray and groping like
blind men in an earthquake, knowing not where to turn for safety. And as
she thought, Miss Jewett was speaking. Mary heard what the American
woman said only as an undertone to the clamour in her own brain; but at
last the sense of the words and what they might mean for herself sprang
out of darkness like the white arm of a searchlight.

"In justice to Princess Della Robbia and to me--though maybe you won't
care much about that--you must hear what I've got to tell you," Miss
Jewett said imperatively to Angelo. "It's true I'm a detective. I'm not
ashamed of it. I've made a reputation that way. But I'm human. I didn't
come here to be a beast. I'd no idea what Miss Bland was up to. I
thought she wanted me to look at the Princess, and know whether I'd seen
her picture at the Convent of St. Ursula-of-the-Lake, in Scotland. I
went there on Miss Bland's business, while she waited here, near your
house, so as to be on the spot when I came along with news. It was in
America she first engaged me to do the work. She said her cousin the
Duke di Rienzi wasn't satisfied with his son's marriage, and wanted to
find out something about the lady. It was all one to me, so long as I
was paid. And I have been paid. But if she offered me twice as much I
wouldn't do the thing over again; and I won't raise a finger for her if
she wants any more done. She can do her own dirty work. She said her
cousin the Duke told her his new daughter-in-law was an artist in
Dresden, and she sent me there. I got off the track a bit, but some
things I heard sent me on to St. Petersburg. There had been a Mary Gaunt
or Grant stopping there once in a hotel, with a man she wasn't married
to; that's certain--and she came with him from Paris. From Paris I
traced her--that is, I traced a Mary Grant--ba