She
was wandering restlessly about the room, too impatient to sit down. When
she saw Vanno at the door, she went to him swiftly. "I'm so glad Americo
found you," she cried. "I need to have a word with you alone. Angelo is
so hard! He wouldn't let me see Mary before she went, or even write her
a line of love and sympathy. I've hardly eaten or slept since that awful
afternoon. If you could know how ill I am, you wouldn't blame me so
much! I love Mary. My heart's breaking for her trouble. But I can do
nothing, except send a letter for you to give, in case you find her.
Please take it--I've written it already, in case--and don't tell
Angelo."
"I've brought a friend of Mary's who can prove to you both that she
isn't the heroine of that story you and my brother were so quick to
believe," Vanno broke in, lacking patience to hear her through.
With a faint "Oh!" Marie shrank back, looking suddenly smaller and
older. The pretty hand which had pressed Vanno's sleeve dropped heavily
as if its many rings weighed the fingers down. Sickly pale, she fixed
her eyes upon him, unable to speak, though her lips fell apart, seeming
to form the word "Who?"
Vanno waited for no further explaining, but called Peter, who hovered
outside the open door. "Miss Maxwell, will you come?"
Peter appeared instantly, but seeing the Princess, stopped on the
threshold, with the face of one who meets a ghost. "Marie Grant!" she
exclaimed, the two short words explosive as revolver shots.
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