ed of--of a woman's presence about him, and if he can find a woman
who is attractive to him and to whom he is not repulsive, he has a right
to accept, in a grateful and friendly spirit, such pleasure as that
woman is willing to give him, without entering into any closer bond. I
saw no harm in the thing, provided only there is no unfairness or insult
or deceit on either side. As for your having been in that relation with
other men before I met you, I did not think about that. I merely thought
that the connexion would be a pleasant and harmless one for both of us,
and that either was free to break it as soon as it became irksome. If I
was mistaken--if you have grown to look upon it differently--then----"

He paused again.

"Then?" she whispered, without looking up.

"Then I have done you a wrong, and I am very sorry. But I did not mean
to do it."

"You 'did not mean' and you 'thought'----Felice, are you made of cast
iron? Have you never been in love with a woman in your life that you
can't see I love you?"

A sudden thrill went through him; it was so long since anyone had said
to him: "I love you." Instantly she started up and flung her arms round
him.

"Felice, come away with me! Come away from this dreadful country and all
these people and their politics! What have we got to do with them? Come
away, and we will be happy together. Let us go to South America, where
you used to live."

The physical horror of association startled him back into self-control;
he unclasped her hands from his neck and held them in a steady grasp.

"Zita! Try to understand what I am saying to you. I do not love you; and
if I did I would not come away with you. I have my work in Italy, and my
comrades----"

"And someone else that you love better than me!" she cried out fiercely.
"Oh, I could kill you! It is not your comrades you care about; it's----
I know who it is!"

"Hush!" he said quietly. "You are excited and imagining things that are
not true."

"You suppose I am thinking of Signora Bolla? I'm not so easily duped!
You only talk politics with her; you care no more for her than you do
for me. It's that Cardinal!"

The Gadfly started as if he had been shot.

"Cardinal?" he repeated mechanically.

"Cardinal Montanelli, that came here preaching in the autumn. Do you
think I didn't see your face when his carriage passed? You were as white
as my pocket-handkerchief! Why, you're shaking like a leaf now because I
mentioned his nam