“Murder will out” they say!  Here was guilt partially declaring itself.  A perfectly innocent woman could not foresee so readily the condemnation of society.  Not having the knowledge of evil she would be unable to calculate the consequences.  The overprudish woman betrays herself; the fine lady who virtuously shudders at the sight of a nude statue or picture, announces at once to all whom it may concern that there is something far coarser in the suggestions of her own mind than the work of art she condemns.  Absolute purity has no fear of social slander; it knows its own value, and that it must conquer in the end.  My wife—­alas! that I should call her so—­was innately vicious and false; yet how particular she was in her efforts to secure the blind world’s good opinion!  Poor old world! how exquisitely it is fooled, and how good-naturedly it accepts its fooling!  But I had to answer the fair liar, whose net of graceful deceptions was now spread to entrap me, therefore I said with an effort of courtesy: 

“No one would dare to slander you, contessa, in my presence.”  She bowed and smiled prettily.  “But,” I went on, “if it is true that you have no liking for Signer Ferrari—­”

“It is true!” she exclaimed with sudden emphasis.  “He is rough and ill-mannered; I have seen him the worse for wine, sometimes he is insufferable!  I am afraid of him!”

I glanced at her quietly.  Her face had paled, and her hands, which were busied with some silken embroidery, trembled a little.

“In that case,” I continued, slowly, “though I am sorry for Ferrari, poor fellow! he will be immensely disappointed!  I confess I am glad in other respects, because—­”

“Because what?” she demanded, eagerly.  “Why,” I answered, feigning a little embarrassment, “because there will be more chance for other men who may seek to possess the hand of the accomplished and beautiful Contessa Romani.”

She shook her fair head slightly.  A transient expression of disappointment passed over her features.

“The ‘other men’ you speak of, conte, are not likely to indulge in such an ambition,” she said, with a faint sigh; “more especially,” and her eyes flashed indignantly, “since Signor Ferrari thinks it his duty to mount guard over me.  I suppose he wishes to keep me for himself—­a most impertinent and foolish notion!  There is only one thing to do—­I shall leave Naples before he returns.”

“Why?” I asked.

She flushed deeply.  “I wish to avoid him,” she said, after a little pause; “I tell you frankly, he has lately given me much cause for annoyance.  I will not be persecuted by his attentions; and as I before said to you, I am often afraid of him.  Under your protection I know I am quite safe, but I cannot always enjoy that—­”

The moment had come.  I advanced a step or two.

“Why not?” I said.  “It rests entirely with yourself.”

She started and half rose from her chair—­her work dropped from her hands.