to buy nothing and go away. Then,
the brutality of the involuntary simile distressed her, too, and she
felt that she ought to say something to destroy the effect of it on her
own mind, as well as to comfort Gianluca. But she could not find much to
say. Very young women rarely do, under the circumstances.

"I am very sorry," she said gently.

She felt that he might have a right to reproach her for coming there,
and she was grateful to him for not doing so, having really very little
idea of the nature of the over-submissive and humble love which sapped
his manliness instead of rousing his courage.

"Ah, I knew it!" he almost moaned, and resting his elbows upon his knees
he covered his face with his delicate, white hands, that trembled
spasmodically now and then. "I knew it," he repeated in his broken
voice. "You were kind to let me speak--I kiss your hands--for your
kindness--I thank you--"

His voice broke altogether. Veronica heard a smothered sob, and glancing
at him nervously, saw the tears trickling down between his fingers. She
looked up quickly to see whether Bianca had noticed anything, but the
sweet, deep voice was singing softly to the subdued chords of the piano,
and Veronica sat quite still, waiting for Gianluca to recover his
self-control.

She felt that she pitied him, but at the same time considered him in
some way an inferior being; and as the idea of marrying him crossed her
mind again, her heart started in repugnance at the mere thought.

CHAPTER X.

Veronica left Bianca Corleone's house with a very painful sense of
disappointment, and as she drove homeward through the wet streets, she
could not get rid of Gianluca's tearful blue eyes, which seemed to
follow her into the carriage; and in the rattling and jolting, she heard
again and again that one weak sob which had so disturbed her. At that
moment she would rather have gone directly back to the convent in Rome,
to stay there for the rest of her life, than have married such an
unmanly man as she believed him to be. His words had left her cold, his
face had frozen her, his tears had disgusted her. She pitied him for his
weakness, not for his love of her, and she hoped that she might never
again hear any man speak to her as he had spoken. Nevertheless there had
been in his tone, at the last, the doubt-splitting accent of a sharp
truth that hurt him to tears. She wondered why he had not moved her at
all. The day seemed more grey and wet and