"When my
poor wife died I thought of having my relatives to live
here. My father wished to give up his practice at Empoli;
my mother and sisters and two aunts were also willing. But
it was impossible. They have their ways of doing things,
and when I was younger I was content with them. But now I
am a man. I have my own ways. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I do," said Miss Abbott, thinking of her own dear
father, whose tricks and habits, after twenty-five years
spent in their company, were beginning to get on her
nerves. She remembered, though, that she was not here to
sympathize with Gino--at all events, not to show that she
sympathized. She also reminded herself that he was not
worthy of sympathy. "It is a large house," she repeated.
"Immense; and the taxes! But it will be better
when--Ah! but you have never guessed why I went to
Poggibonsi--why it was that I was out when he called."
"I cannot guess, Signor Carella. I am here on business."
"But try."
"I cannot; I hardly know you."
"But we are old friends," he said, "and your approval
will be grateful to me. You gave it me once before. Will
you give it now?"
"I have not come as a friend this time," she answered
stiffly. "I am not likely, Signor Carella, to approve of
anything you do."
"Oh, Signorina!" He laughed, as if he found her piquant
and amusing. "Surely you approve of marriage?"
"Where there is love," said Miss Abbott, looking at him
hard. His face had altered in the last year, but not for
the worse, which was baffling.
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