ike children under
the gaze of a man of the world--who lived by his sword. And I said
recklessly:

"Yes, you ought to come along with us for a trip. You would see a lot of
things for yourself."

Mr. Blunt's expression had grown even more indulgent if that were
possible. Yet there was something ineradicably ambiguous about that man.
I did not like the indefinable tone in which he observed:

"You are perfectly reckless in what you say, Dona Rita. It has become a
habit with you of late."

"While with you reserve is a second nature, Don Juan."

This was uttered with the gentlest, almost tender, irony. Mr. Blunt
waited a while before he said:

"Certainly. . . . Would you have liked me to be otherwise?"

She extended her hand to him on a sudden impulse.

"Forgive me! I may have been unjust, and you may only have been loyal.
The falseness is not in us. The fault is in life itself, I suppose. I
have been always frank with you."

"And I obedient," he said, bowing low over her hand. He turned away,
paused to look at me for some time and finally gave me the correct sort
of nod. But he said nothing and went out, or rather lounged out with his
worldly manner of perfect ease under all conceivable circumstances. With
her head lowered Dona Rita watched him till he actually shut the door
behind him. I was facing her and only heard the door close.

"Don't stare at me," were the first words she said.

It was difficult to obey that request. I didn't know exactly where to
look, while I sat facing her. So I got up, vaguely full of goodwill,
prepared even to move off as far as the window, when she commanded:

"Don't turn your back on me."

I chose to understand it symbolically.

"You know very well I could never do that. I couldn't. Not even if I
wanted to." And I added: "It's too late now."

"Well, then, sit down. Sit down on this couch."

I sat down on the couch. Unwillingly? Yes. I was at that stage when
all her words, all her gestures, all her silences were a heavy trial to
me, put a stress on my resolution, on that fidelity to myself and to her
which lay like a leaden weight on my untried heart. But I didn't sit
down very far away from her, though that soft and billowy couch was big
enough, God knows! No, not very far from her. Self-control, dignity,
hopelessness itself, have their limits. The halo of her tawny hair
stirred as I let myself drop by her side. Whereupon she flung one arm
round m