h tall and well proportioned, had seemed frail to her
when she had seen him standing by the piano, and his hands were
positively emaciated.

She could not help pitying him. But it is only pity for sorrow, or for
trouble, that is akin to love, not pity for physical weakness; unless,
perhaps, a woman is very certainly sure that such weakness is indeed the
result of love for herself, wearing the man out night and day--and then
the pity she feels is instantly all but love itself and in fact often
more than love in deeds. But Veronica had no such certainty. She still
believed that Taquisara had overshot the mark of truth. She waited for
Gianluca to speak.

"We have met--I have had the honour of meeting you--several times
already, Donna Veronica, since you came from the convent," he said at
last, after a little preliminary cough.

"Oh yes!" answered Veronica, with a smile. "We have often met. I know
you very well."

"I was not quite sure whether you remembered me," he said.

He looked at her, and the blood rose and fell quickly in his cheeks, and
his hands moved uneasily as he clasped them upon one of his knees.

"You must think that I have a very poor memory," observed Veronica,
still smiling, not intentionally, but because she was young enough, and
therefore cruel enough, to be amused by his embarrassment. "The last
time I saw you was at the theatre, I think--at the opening night, last
week--ten days ago--when was it?"

"Yes," he answered quickly. "That was the last time I saw you; but the
last time we spoke was at the San Giuliano's."

"Was it? I do not remember. We have often talked--a little--at different
places."

"I remember very well," said Gianluca, with a good deal of emphasis and
looking earnestly at her.

Veronica tried to recall the conversation on the occasion to which he
referred, but could not remember a word of it.

"Did I say anything especial, that time?" she asked, wondering whether
she had then unfortunately answered 'yes,' in a fit of absence of mind,
to some question of hidden import which he had perhaps addressed to
her.

"Oh yes!" he answered promptly. "You told me that you liked white roses
better than red ones. You see, I have a good memory."

"That was a tremendously important statement." Veronica laughed,
somewhat relieved by the information.

"I always remember everything you say," said Gianluca. "I think I know
by heart all you have ever said to me."

He spoke with a sort of