exchange of a few words, while the girl watched her aunt almost all the time with a sort of childish fear of doing something not quite right.  Veronica could not be said to know any man to the extent of exchanging ideas with him, except her uncle and Bosio himself.  And she liked Bosio very much.  It was not at all improbable, considering all the circumstances, that she might be delighted with the idea of marrying him, merely because she liked him, and he was familiar in her daily life.  Bosio knew that Matilde would speak to her about it at once; and when he tried to think what he should do if Veronica readily accepted the proposition, the pain in his head grew intolerable, and he found it impossible to think connectedly.  The horrible dishonour of it stared him in the face—­and beyond the dishonour, still more fearfully imposing, rose the vision of sure disgrace and infamy for the woman he loved, if he himself refused to do this vile deed.

He looked ill, worn out with mental distress and physical exhaustion, when Taquisara entered the room, and the servant closed the door.  The Sicilian came forward, and Bosio rose to meet him, still wondering why he had come, but far too much disturbed by his own troubles to care.  Nevertheless, he supposed that the matter must be of some importance.  Taquisara was surprised by his appearance, for he was evidently suffering.

“I ought almost to ask you to excuse me for having received you, in my condition,” said Bosio, politely.  “I have a violent headache.  But I am wholly at your service.  In what can I be of use to you?”

Taquisara found himself in an awkward position.  He had expected to find Bosio Macomer radiant and ready to be congratulated by any one who chose to knock at his door.  Instead, he found a man apparently both ill and distressed.  He hesitated a moment, for he knew Bosio but slightly, after all.

“I do not know whether you will think it strange that I should come,” he said, and his square face grew more square as he looked straight at Bosio.  “I am Gianluca della Spina’s best friend.”

“Ah!  Yes—­I think I have heard so,” answered Bosio, not startled, but considerably disturbed, as his gentle eyes met Taquisara’s bold glance.

“I have come, as a friend, to ask whether it is really true that you are to marry Donna Veronica Serra,” continued Taquisara, feeling that after all he might as well go straight to the point.

Bosio straightened himself a little in his chair, and there was a look of surprise in his face.  But he hesitated an instant, in his turn.

“That was the answer which my brother and his wife gave to the Duca della Spina,” he replied coldly.

“Yes,” said Taquisara.  “I know it was.  That is the reason why I have come to you, directly, as Gianluca’s friend.”

“Does Don Gianluca propose to call me out, because he cannot marry Donna Veronica?” asked Bosio, in surprise, and in a tone which showed that he was already offended.