Something in Vanno which knew, because it felt, had always pronounced
her guiltless; but all of him that was modern and worldly had told him
to distrust her. Now he was like a judge who has condemned a prisoner on
circumstantial evidence, to find out the victim's innocence after the
execution.
Standing there on the bridge, the dance-music troubled the current of
his thoughts, rising to the surface of his mind, though he heard it
without listening, like the teasing bubbles of a spring through deep
water. Though he tried, he could not fully analyze his own feelings;
yet he was sharply conscious of those two conflicting sides of his
nature which Angelo saw, and he could almost hear them arguing together.
The part of him that was aristocrat and ascetic excused itself, asking
what he could have done, better than he had done? Had he not broken his
resolve for a good motive and for the girl's sake, not his own? Had he
begged anything of her for himself? Ought she not to have understood
that though he loved her, he could not ask her to be his wife unless or
until she could prove herself worthy--not of him--but of a name and of
traditions honoured in history? Ought she not to have trusted him, and
seen that he was resisting temptation, not yielding to it, when he
implored her to take his help and friendship?
Already Angelo had disappointed their father, by marrying a girl of whom
no one knew anything except her beauty and talent as an artist. Marie
Gaunt had come to Rome to paint the portrait of a fashionable woman; had
been "taken up" by other _mondaines_; and Angelo, meeting her at a
dinner, had fallen in love with and followed her to Dresden, where she
lived and had made her reputation as an artist.
Pages:
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280