Marie said it must be true not of her but of me, if it were true at all.
The only part really true is that I was at the Convent of St.
Ursula-of-the-Lake. I did none of the things Angelo may tell you I did.
Do you love me enough and want me enough to take me without proof of
what I say? Because I have a good reason for not even trying to give any
proof."
This would seem very strange to Vanno--that she should have a good
reason for not trying to prove her truth; but Mary thought, now that he
knew her well and loved her well, he would take her in spite of all,
rather than give her up. But--could she let him take her in that way?
No matter how great his love, the question must creep into his mind
sometimes: "What if she is the woman Angelo thinks her? What if she has
made a fool of me?" Such thoughts, even though thrust out by him with
violence, must mingle poison with his happiness, and at last cloud the
brightness of his love. Besides, they two would have to live apart from
his people. If she were Vanno's wife, he and Angelo could not be
friends.
It began to seem, after all, as if there were no way out. Whether she
kept her word to Marie or broke it, as Marie deserved, never, it seemed,
could she and Vanno know untroubled happiness together. The music of
their love must at best be jarred by discords: and looking to the stars
behind the drifting clouds, Mary told herself with a bursting heart that
it would be kinder to break with Vanno now.
For a long time she sat at the table without moving, her chin in her
hands, her eyes always on the window.
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