"Cannot you trust me further, Nino?" "Trust you, darling!" he cried. "Why, of course I can. Only all this secrecy worries me." "Ah no! Don't think of it any more," she urged. "To-night I will leave with you for Paris. I have a friend there to whom I can go. Afterwards, in London, we will marry--if you still desire that we should." The last words were uttered in a low, tremulous, hesitating tone. "Still desire!" he echoed. "I still love you as fondly--ah! even more fervently than before. If you would only confide in me, I should be entirely happy." "At present that is impossible," she declared. "Some day, before long, I hope to be in a position to tell you everything." "And you are ready to go to London?" he observed. "Half an hour ago you said you did not wish to go to England!" "True, because I feared to go. Now I no longer fear. I am ready, even eager to accompany you if you still wish." "Then we will go straight to Paris; and when I have concluded my business, which will occupy perhaps a couple of days, we'll go on to London." "Benissimo!" she answered, raising her full, red lips to his. "I so want to see your great and wonderful London, caro. I've read so much about it. It must be gigantic. I shall be so happy and content with you as my guide. To see London has ever been the dream of my life." "Ah! I'm afraid you'll be sadly disappointed, piccina," he said, again smiling. "After your bright, beautiful Italy, our busy, bustling, smoke-blackened city will seem terribly dull, monotonous, and dreary. The sky is seldom blue, and the atmosphere never clear and bright like this. In your Tuscany everything is artistic--the country, the towns, the people; but in England--well, you will see for yourself." "But there are lots of amusements in London," she said, "and life there is always gay." "For the rich, London offers the greatest and most diverse attractions of any place in the world; but for the poor, herded together in millions as they are, it is absolutely the worst. In Italy you have much poverty and distress, but the lot of the poor man is far easier here than in toiling, turbulent, over-crowded London." "One never appreciates the town in which one lives, be it ever so beautiful," she laughed. "Well, be patient, and you shall see what London is like," he said. "But it is already two o'clock. You must lunch, and afterwards pack your trunks. Our train leaves at half-past nine to-night, and at Pisa we shall join the night-mail to the frontier. I'll wire to the sleeping-car office in Rome, and secure our berths in the through car for Paris." "Ah! Nino," she exclaimed happily, "I am content, very content to leave Italy with you. An hour ago I had reasons for remaining; but now it is, of course, impossible; and, strangely enough, I have no further object in staying here." "And you will not regret leaving?"