"I will see to it," said Ghisleri. "By the bye, it is contagious, is it not? I have a visit to pay before dinner; ought I to change my clothes?"

The doctor smiled. He did not know Ghisleri, and fancied that he might be timid.

"It is not contagious yet," he answered, "or hardly at all. I do not think there is any danger."

"There might be a little--even a very little, you think?" asked Pietro, insisting.

"Of course it can do no harm to change one's clothes," replied the other, somewhat surprised.

"You have told Lady Herbert exactly what must be done, I suppose. In that case I shall not go up."

The doctor was confirmed in his suspicion that Ghisleri was afraid of catching the fever, and got into his carriage, musing on the deceptive nature of appearances. Pietro wrote a few words on his card, telling Laura that he would be back before dinner time with the best nurse to be found, and sent it up by the porter. Then he drove home as quickly as possible, dressed himself entirely afresh, and went to see the Contessa dell' Armi.

"I have come," he said, after the first greeting, "to tell you that you will not see me for several days. Arden has got the scarlet fever, and I shall be there taking care of him, more or less, until he is out of danger."

"Can they not have a nurse for him?" asked Maddalena, raising her eyebrows.

"There will be a nurse, too. I am going to get one now and take her there."

"You do not seem anxious to consult me in the least," said the Contessa.

"You never do nowadays."

"What do you mean? Do you think this is a case of consulting any one? I do not understand."

"Do you think you have any right to risk your life in this way? Do you think you contribute to my happiness by doing it? And yet I have heard you say that my happiness is first in your thoughts. Not that I ever believed it."

"You are wrong," answered Ghisleri, gently. "I would do almost anything for you."

"What a clever reservation--'almost' anything. You know that if you did not put it in that way, I should tell you not to go near the Ardens until there is no danger of catching the fever."

"Of course," a.s.sented Pietro.

"You ought not to be so diplomatic. You used to talk very differently.

Do you remember that evening by the waterfall at Vallombrosa? You have changed since then."

Her cla.s.sic face began to harden in the way he knew so well.

"There is no question of diplomacy," he said quietly. "Arden has been my friend these ten years, and he is in very great danger. I mean to take care of him as long as I am needed because I do not trust nurses, and because Lady Herbert is anything but strong herself at the present time, and may break down or lose her head. As for risking my life, there is no risk at all in the matter. I have very little belief in contagion, though the doctors talk about it."

"I suppose you have just seen him," observed the Contessa, who was determined to find fault. "You do not seem to ask yourself whether I share your disbelief."

"Since you ask," said Ghisleri, with a smile, "I admit that I changed my clothes before coming to see you, for that very reason. Some people do believe in danger of that kind."

"I am glad you admit it. So I am not to see you until Lord Herbert is quite well again. I will not answer for the consequences. I have something to say to you to-day. Are you in a hurry?"

"Not in the least."

"It will not take long. I have discovered another proof of your desertion. You know what pleasant things Adele Savelli says about me--and you, too. I have told you more than once exactly what was repeated to me. Did you ever take any steps to prevent her talking about me?"

"No, I never did. I do not even see how I could. Can I quarrel with Francesco Savelli, because his wife spreads scandalous reports about you? It would look singularly like fighting your battles."

"And yet," retorted the Contessa, speaking slowly, and fixing her eyes on his, "there is no sooner something said against Lady Herbert Arden, than you show your teeth and fight in earnest. Can you deny it?"

"No, I do not lie," answered Ghisleri. "But I did not know that you were aware of the fact. Some one has been indiscreet, as usual."

"Of course. That sort of thing cannot be a secret long. All Rome knows that there was a dinner of reconciliation at the Palazzo Savelli last night, that every one embraced every one else, that Adele looks like death to-day, and is going about everywhere saying the most delightful things about the Ardens, in the most horribly nervous way. You see what power you have when you choose to use it."

She spoke bitterly, though she was conscious that the right was not all on her side, and that Ghisleri, as he said, could defend the Ardens without fear of adverse criticism, whereas it would be a very different matter if he entered the lists in her defence.

"You are not quite just to me, my dear lady," he said, after a moment's reflection. "You are not the wife of my old friend, and an otherwise indifferent person--"

"Quite indifferent?" She looked keenly at him.

"Quite," he answered, with perfect sincerity. "A person is indifferent whom one neither loves nor calls an intimate friend. Yet Lady Herbert is beautiful and good, and is admirable in many ways. But the world knows that I am no more in love with her than with Donna Adele, and I am quite free, therefore, to defend her."

"Of course you are. The only thing that surprises me is your alacrity in doing so. You do not generally like to give yourself trouble for indifferent people. But then, as Arden really is your friend--" She stopped, with a little impatient movement of the shoulders.

"I wish you could bring yourself for once to believe that I am not altogether insincere and calculating in everything I do," said Ghisleri, weary of her perpetual suspicion.

"I wish I could," she answered coldly. "But how can I? There are such extraordinary inconsistencies in your character, such contradictions--it is very hard to believe in you. And yet," she added sadly, "G.o.d knows I must--for my own sake."

"Then do!" exclaimed Pietro, with energy. "Make an end of all this doubting. Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever made a promise to you and not kept it? How have I deceived you? And yet you never trust me altogether, and I know it."

"It is not that--it is not that!" repeated Maddalena. "What you say is all true, in its way. It is--how shall I say it--you did not deceive me, but I was deceived in you. You are not what I thought you were. You used to say that you would stand at nothing--that my word was your law--all those fine phrases you used to make to me, and they all seem to come to nothing when reality begins."

"If you would tell me what you expect me to do, you would not find me slow in doing it."

"That is the thing. If you loved me as you say you do, would you need any direction? Your heart would tell you."

"You are angry with me now, because you do not wish me to take care of Arden--"

"Can I wish that you should be willing to cut yourself off from me for a week--or two weeks? I suppose that is your idea of love. It is not mine."

"Then be frank in your turn. You have the right to ask what you please of me. Say plainly that you wish me to give up the idea, to leave Arden to the doctors and the nurses, and I will obey you unhesitatingly."

"I would not have the sacrifice now--not as a gift," murmured Maddalena, pa.s.sionately. "If you could think of doing it, you shall do it. I will force you to it now. I will not see you until Arden does not need you any more--not even if you never go near him. If you do not think of me naturally, I would rather that you should never think of me again."

Ghisleri rose and went to the fireplace, and looked at the objects on the mantelpiece for a long time, without seeing them. There was a strange conflict in his heart at that moment. He could not tell whether he loved her or not--that he had loved her a very short time since, he was sure. At the present juncture it would be very easy to tell her the truth, if his love were no longer real, and to break with her once and for ever. Did she love him? Cruelly and coldly he compared her love with that of another whom he had sacrificed long ago--a memory that haunted him still at times. That had been love indeed. Was this also love, but of another kind? Then, suddenly, he despised himself for his fickleness, and he thought of what Maddalena had done and risked for him, and for him alone.

"Maddalena," he said, and his voice shook as he came to her side, and took her small white hand. "Forgive me, forgive me all there is to forgive. I am a brute sometimes. I cannot help it."

Her lip trembled a little, but her face did not relax.

"There is nothing to forgive," she said. "It is I who have been mistaken."

CHAPTER X.