Beneath it extended a stone seat whereon the
wayfarer might kneel or sit; above, in the niche, protected by a
wire grating, stood a doll painted with a blue cloak and a golden
crown. Offerings of wayside flowers decorated the ledge before the
little image.
They sat down and Doria began to smoke his usual Tuscan cigar. His
depression increased and with it Brendon's astonishment. The man
appeared to be taking exactly that attitude to his wife she had
already suggested toward him.
"Il volto sciolto ed i pensieri stretti," declared Giuseppe with
gloom. "That is to say 'her countenance may be clear, but her
thoughts are dark'--too dark to tell me--her husband."
"Perhaps she fears you a little. A woman is always helpless before a
man who keeps his own secrets hidden."
"Helpless? Far from it. She is a self-controlled, efficient,
hard-headed woman. Her loveliness is a curtain. You have not yet got
behind that. You loved her, but she did not love you. She loved me
and married me. And it is I who know her character, not you.
Pages:
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352