"
He guessed her meaning and led her away from the subject of her
husband.
"Tell me, if it won't hurt you too much, a little about Michael
Pendean."
But she appeared not to hear him. Her thoughts were concerned
entirely with herself and her present situation.
"I can trust you. You are wise and know life. I have not married a
man, but a devil!"
Her hands clenched and he saw a flash of her teeth in the gloom of
the silent chamber.
He took snuff and listened, while the unfortunate woman raved of her
error.
"I hate him. I loathe him," she cried, and heaped hard words on the
head of the debonair Giuseppe. She broke off presently panted, and
then subsided in tears.
Peter studied her very carefully, yet, for the moment, showed no
great sympathy. His answer was tonic rather than sedative.
"You must keep your nerve and be patient," he said. "Even Italy's a
free country in some respects; you need not stop with Doria if you
don't want to."
"Might my husband be alive? Do you imagine it possible that he could
be alive? I think of him as my husband again, now that this
midsummer madness is over.
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