hat
last week," she said. "And that is why I kept silence; but now I know
he would make you unhappy always. Oh, forgive me for hurting you so."
She came and knelt down beside the little girl, and put her arms about
her. "Don't cry, my dear. Don't cry."

"Oh, Olive, I was so fond of him! Now tell me what has happened
since."

"Put your hands in mine. There, I will rub the poor tiny things and
warm them. They are so pretty. Yesterday, in the Boboli gardens, I
missed your cousin, and when I went to look for her I saw her with the
Prince. He held her and was kissing her."

"Oh!" Edna sprang to her feet. "That settles it. Mamie is common and
real homely, and if he can run after her I have done with him. I could
have forgiven the other, especially as she is dead, but Mamie!
Gracious! Here he is!"

He came into the room leisurely, smiling, very sure of his welcome.
Olive met the hot insolence of his stare steadily, and Edna turned her
back on him.

"Olive," she said, "you speak to him. Tell him--ask him--" Her gentle
voice broke.

"What is the matter?" he asked carefully.

"I saw you twice in Siena last summer. Do you remember _Rigoletto_ at
the Lizza theatre? You were in the stage box. You wore evening dress,
and I saw that emerald ring you have now on your finger. The next day
you met my Cousin Gemma in my room in the Vicolo dei Moribondi. Do you
remember the steep dark stairs and the white walls of the bare place
where you saw her last?"

He made no answer, and there was still a smile on his lips, but his
eyes were hard. Edna was looking at him now, but he seemed to have
forgotten her.

"I suppose you loved her," Olive said slowly. "Do you remember the
faint pink curve of her mouth, the little cleft in her chin, and her
hair that was so soft and fine? There were always little stray curls
on the white nape of her neck. I came to my room that morning to fetch
a book. When I had climbed the stairs I found that I had not the key
with me, but the door was unlocked and I saw her there with a man, and
I saw the green gleam of an emerald."

Men have such a power of silence. No woman but would have made some
answer now, denying with a show of surprise, making excuses, using
words in one way or another.

"They were talking about you in the town, though I think they did not
know who you were--at least I never heard your name--and that night
Gemma's _fidanzato_ told her he would not marry her. You know best
what that m