a second in the dusk. Luigi came
pattering down the third flight of steps that led to the upper terrace
on which the house stood. Amaldi yielded Sophy's cloak to him.

"Excuse my haste," he then said, "but my mother's waiting for me below.
We've a train to meet. Good evening, Mrs. Chesney. Good evening...."

He was gone.

Chesney stood immovable till he heard the descending footsteps die away.
Then he said:

"Sophy!" His voice was thick with feeling. Sophy felt giddy--the
twilight seemed closing in on her in waves. She breathed it like a
stifling vapour.

"Sophy!" said Chesney again. He caught her to him--felt for her mouth
with his in the blinding dusk--crushed kisses down upon it until she
winced with physical pain. That London smell of his coat was strong in
her nostrils. The past two months shrivelled like a wisp of paper in a
flame. There was no Italy ... no dream ... only this great man holding
her, bruising her with his lips and body. In the utter quiet of the
evening, she could hear distinctly the throbbing of the _Fretta_'s
engine as it sped away towards Laveno.

XXXVI

Sophy felt very anxious when she learned that Cecil had not brought
either Gaynor or Anne Harding with him. The letter that she received
next morning from Anne did not reassure her: "Mr. Chesney has certainly
done wonderfully for such a short time," it said; "but _he's not out of
the woods yet_, by any _manner_ of means! I don't mean that he hasn't
stopped taking all drugs, but that he hasn't _stopped long enough to go
it alone_." (Anne was a great underscorer--her letters reminded Sophy of
her vehement, italicised speech.) "He should have me with him this
minute. He won't be _entirely_ safe for _two years_. But we could do
nothing. His constitution is _amazing_. He really _is_ well--in _a
way_--but he isn't near as strong yet a while as he _thinks_ he
is--either mentally or physically. Dr. Carfew was _much_ displeased by
his leaving so abruptly; but, as I said--we could do _nothing_. This is
a free country--worse luck for it in some ways!"

And yet Cecil certainly seemed normal in all respects. His good temper
over inconveniences was astonishing in so fastidious and pampered a man.
Never since he was twenty had he been without a skilled valet. Now he
put up with Luigi's amateurish ministrations, as though it were a sort
of lark to have his boots treed rights on lefts, and his ties, socks,
and handkerchiefs mingled confusedly.