ish. Now, in this silence, in this
pause during which patience was forced upon him, his excitement grew,
became fierce, dominant. He knew from Gaspare's way of speaking, from
his action, from his whole manner, that his fate had been secretly
determined in that house, and that it was being rejoiced over. At first
he sat looking at the floor. Then he got up, went to the window, came
back, stood in the middle of the room and glanced about it. How pretty
it was, with a prettiness that he was quite unaccustomed to. In his
father's villa at Capodimonte there was little real comfort. And he knew
nothing of the cosiness of English houses. As he looked at this room he
felt, or thought he felt, Vere in it. He even made an effort scarcely
natural to him, and tried to imagine a home with Vere as its mistress.

Then he began to listen. Perhaps Emilio was in the house. Perhaps Emilio
was talking now to the Signora, was telling her what to do.

But he heard no sound of voices speaking.

No doubt Emilio had seen the Signora that morning in the hotel. No
doubt there had been a consultation. And probably at this consultation
his--the Marchesino's--fate had been decided.

By Emilio?

At that moment the Marchesino actively, even furiously, hated his former
friend.

There was a little noise at the door; the Marchesino turned swiftly, and
saw Hermione coming in. He looked eagerly behind her. But the door shut.
She was alone. She did not give her hand to him. He bowed, trying to
look calm.

"Good-afternoon, Signora."

Hermione sat down. He followed her example.

"I don't know why you wish to see me, after yesterday, Marchese," she
said, quietly, looking at him with steady eyes.

"Signora, pardon me, but I should have thought that you would know."

"What is it?"

"Signora, I am here to ask the great honor of your daughter the
Signorina's hand in marriage. My father, to whom--"

But Hermione interrupted him.

"You will never marry my daughter, Marchese," she said.

A sudden red burned in her cheeks, and she leaned forward slightly,
but very quickly, almost as if an impulse had come to her to push the
Marchesino away from her.

"But, Signora, I assure you that my family--"

"It is quite useless to talk about it."

"But why, Signora?"

"My child is not for a man like you," Hermione said, emphasizing the
first word.

A dogged expression came into the Marchesino's face, a fighting look
that was ugly and brutal, but that s