"What is the matter, Anne? Won't you tell me, dear? You're so different from your former self, so unapproachable. So almost irritable. Are you unhappy about this man? Do you care for him, perhaps? Has love finally come to you after all these years?" Again she avoided the earnest gaze. "I don't know. I--I'm afraid not." "You don't know?" he stammered. "No." The word came draggingly from pale lips. "But what is it, dear one? Do you intend to marry this boy? Is that why you say you are afraid?" "No." Once more the monosyllable was barely audible. Then she turned and faced the honest eyes squarely. "I cannot marry Alexis even if I want to. He has a wife already!" "Ah!" he breathed painfully. "I understand. And yet you love him, my poor Anne? He--he is your lover?" She shook her head. The firelight leapt up the ivory column of her throat, tinting her hair with living gold. "No--not yet, Vittorio." He uttered a low cry almost of joy. "Thank God! Then it's not too late. Ah, Anne, think what it would mean to you to take a lover, you to whom marriage was a crucifixion! Have you forgotten our long talks in the garden? How often you have confided to me your horror of contact? That is why you have always refused to marry again? Even me, your very oldest friend! How could you bear it, then, to have a lover?" Her face cupped within her hands, Anne gazed into the fire. "Don't make it too hard for me, Vittorio. Let me explain." He broke in quickly. "No explanation is necessary. You love at last. And when a woman like you loves, she surrenders all. But think well. The ignoble does not suit you. Your love will not survive it. You will lose caste in your own eyes--you will be talked about--whispered about----" Anne laughed grimly. "Talked about, whispered about! Am I not accustomed to that!" "Ah, that was different, beneath your notice. Only the truth can sting a woman like you. Anne, believe me, if you take a lover you will be very unhappy, I--I dread to think of it." He bowed his head upon the mantel. She rose, and approaching him, laid her hand upon his thick, black hair. "Poor Vittorio, how good you are to me. Much, much too good!" "I good to you?" he turned beneath the caressing fingers and looked at her in surprise. "But I love you. I would do anything to prevent your suffering. If you will only marry me now, before it is too late, I promise never to demand anything for myself. We will go first to Mexico if you like, and then back home to Italy. It will be just the same as ever between us, only I shall be there to protect you. And with change of scene and distance you will forget all this madness." She shook her head dully. "Oh, no, it is impossible, dear. But why Mexico?" she asked, momentarily diverted.