She was naturally too obstinate to change her mind, and turn back; yet by the time the brougham drove into Bianca’s gate, she really hoped that Gianluca might not come at all.  But when she crossed the threshold of the house, she already hoped that he might be there.  Her doubts were soon set at rest by the sight of his thin face and almost colourless beard, in the distance, as the servant opened the door of the drawing-room.  Bianca was seated at the piano, and Gianluca was standing on one side of her, while Ghisleri bent over her on the other, looking at the sheet of music before her.  She rose, as Veronica entered,—­a queenly young figure, with a lovely, fateful face.  To-day her eyes were dark and shadowy, and Veronica thought that she must have been crying in the night.

Gianluca had started visibly when Veronica had appeared, but she did not look at him until she had kissed Bianca, and had spoken to Ghisleri, who now, for the first time, understood the meaning of Gianluca’s unexpected morning visit.  Bianca had guessed it almost immediately, and had purposely sat down to the piano to look over the music.  It would seem natural, she thought, when Veronica came, that she should resume her seat, and play or sing, with Ghisleri to turn over the pages for her, while Veronica and Gianluca could talk.  She was too loyal to her friend, and too discreet, to have given Ghisleri a hint, even had she been able to do so after Gianluca had come.  But events proved to her that she was right.

When Veronica, at last, spoke to the younger man, there was an evident constraint in her manner.  He, on his part, blushed suddenly pink, and then turned white again, almost in a moment.  He put out his hand nervously, and then withdrew it, not finding Veronica’s, but before he had quite taken it back, hers came forward, and hesitated in the air.  Then he took it, and both smiled in momentary embarrassment over the incident, and a little at the thought of having shaken hands at all, for it is a custom reserved in the south for married women.

“Do you mind if I go on trying this song?” asked Bianca, sitting down to the piano again.  “Talk as much as you please,” she added.  “I do not know it—­I only wish to look it over.”

Veronica was surprised at the ease and simplicity with which matters were arranged, and in a few seconds she found herself sitting beside Gianluca, on a narrow sofa at some distance from Bianca and Ghisleri.  Gianluca looked at her sideways, and then a moment later she looked at him; but their eyes did not meet.  She had only glanced at him once, and for an instant after they had sat down, side by side, but she had got a good view of his face in that one look.  It was evident to her that he was really ill, whatever might be the cause of his illness.  The delicate features were unnaturally thin and drawn, and there were blue shadows at the temples such as consumptive men often have.  The blue eyes were sunk too deep, and there were hollows above the lids, under the brows.  His figure, too, though tall and well proportioned, had seemed frail to her when she had seen him standing by the piano, and his hands were positively emaciated.