He was just in that state of mind in which he would have broken
away and freed himself within the hour, at any cost, if he had been
involved in a common intrigue.
At the same time he had become convinced that Folco had deceived him,
for some reason or other which he could not guess, and the knowledge was
the first serious disillusionment of his life. The deception had been
small, and perhaps intended in some mysterious way to be "for his own
good"; but it had been a distinct deception and no better than a lie. He
was sure of that.
He went upstairs slowly and Regina met him at the door of their rooms,
and took his hat and stick without a word, for she saw that something
had happened, and she felt suddenly cold. He was quite unlike himself.
The careless look was gone from his face, his young lips were tightly
closed, and he looked straight before him, quite unconscious that his
manner was hurting her desperately.
"Has Settimia been out to-day?" he asked, looking at her quickly.
"I don't know," she answered, surprised. "I went for a long walk this
morning. She probably went out into the village. I cannot tell. Why do
you ask?"
"I wish to know whether she sent a note to Saint Moritz by a messenger.
Can you find out, without asking her a direct question? I am very
anxious to know."
"I will try, but it will not be easy," said Regina, watching him.
She had made up her mind that the blow was coming, and that Marcello was
only putting off the moment when she must be told that he meant to leave
her.
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