e very happy to get such a message from you," said Amaldi.
He, too, felt his tone to be formal. Yet what could there be between
them but formalities! His heart shook in his breast. He had been mad,
quite mad--a vain fool, to risk seeing her again. He had even thought
that to see her thus, married for the second time, and happily, would
allay the uneasy ache with which he always thought of her. He realised,
in these very first moments, that it was the contrary which had
happened. That half-numbed ache had sprung into a throb of acute pain at
the first sight of her face. And how delicate she looked! Then leaped
the question: Was she only ill ... or was she unhappy?

This thought of her possible unhappiness had not before occurred to
Amaldi. That a woman with such bitter experience to guide her should
make a second mistake in a question so vital as marriage had not seemed
possible. Now as he observed her it seemed quite possible ... even
probable. It took his breath. He felt that he must look strange and so
began to speak casually. After a few moments Sophy said: "I must
introduce you to some of these pretty girls.... They will be thinking me
very negligent."

He followed her submissively. He had come to this debutante ball just
for the opportunity of seeing her. Now he must pay the penalty.

Sophy led him first to Belinda.

"Belinda, this is my friend, the Marchese Amaldi," she said. "This is
the heroine of the ball, Marchese ... Miss Horton, my...." she almost
stumbled--"my husband's cousin," it came out bravely.

Belinda thought that Amaldi looked "a great swell." She set herself at
once to enthrall him. Amaldi lent himself idly to the old, old game.
Belinda had at times the stupidity of all cock-sureness. She went to
bed that night firmly convinced that Amaldi was her future slave.

She said something of the sort jestingly to Sophy. Sophy looked at her
gravely, then she coloured a little and said:

"I must tell you Belinda that the Marchese Amaldi is married. He is
separated from his wife--but in Italy there is no divorce."

"Pooh!" said Belinda airily. "I don't want to be his marchioness.... I
only want to see how a stately dago like that makes love...."

Sophy had not replied. And Belinda, safe in her bedroom, taking off her
jewels with little pussy-cat yawns of replete pleasure, had thought:

"He must have been in love with _her_ once ... when she was younger.
Just common or garden jealousy--her telling me