She had taken his friendship, his kindness, his sympathy, and
given him nothing in return except a little pity following upon
repulsion. And she dared not ask herself how far her thoughtlessness was
answerable for his death.
XXXII
"A letter for the Highness and one waits for answer," announced Americo,
with the air of presenting a choice gift, as he bowed to the Princess
over a small silver tray.
She was lying among the red cushions of her favourite hammock on the
loggia. Beside her in a basket chair was Angelo, with a book in his hand
which he did not read, because when Marie was near him everything else
seemed irrelevant. Not far away Mary sat, writing a letter to Vanno
which ought to reach him the next morning. Yesterday at five o'clock she
had seen him off in the Rome express; and before this time he must have
arrived.
"Idina Bland's hand," said Angelo, as his wife took a large gray
envelope from the silver tray. "I wonder----" But he did not finish his
sentence. To do so would have been superfluous, as in a moment he would
know what Idina was writing about; and, besides, Angelo shrank
curiously--perhaps foolishly, he sometimes felt--from speaking of Idina
Bland or even mentioning her name to Marie. He was not superstitious, or
at least, he told himself often that he was not; yet the very thought of
his cousin depressed him as if she were a witch who from any distance
could cast a spell of ill-luck upon a house.
Marie had no suspicion of Angelo's feeling for Miss Bland.
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