“Oh, no.  She’s quite well,” said Clementina; but she left it for him to break the constraint in which they set out.  He tried to do so at different points, but it seemed to close upon them—­the more inflexibly.  At last he asked, as they were drawing near the church, “Have you ever seen anything of Mr. Belsky since you left Florence?”

“No,” she said, with a nervous start.  “What makes you ask?”

“I don’t know.  But you see nearly everybody again that you meet in your travels.  That friend of his—­that Mr. Gregory—­he seems to have dropped out, too.  I believe you told me you used to know him in America.”

“Yes,” she answered, briefly; she could not say more; and Hinkle went on.  “It seemed to me, that as far as I could make him out, he was about as much of a crank in his way as the Russian.  It’s curious, but when you were talking about religion, the other day, you made me think of him!” The blood went to Clementina’s heart.  “I don’t suppose you had him in mind, but what you said fitted him more than anyone I know of.  I could have almost believed that he had been trying to convert you!” She stared at him, and he laughed.  “He tackled me one day there in Florence all of a sudden, and I didn’t know what to say, exactly.  Of course, I respected his earnestness; but I couldn’t accept his view of things and I tried to tell him so.  I had to say just where I stood, and why, and I mentioned some books that helped to get me there.  He said he never read anything that went counter to his faith; and I saw that he didn’t want to save me, so much as he wanted to convince me.  He didn’t know it, and I didn’t tell him that I knew it, but I got him to let me drop the subject.  He seems to have been left over from a time when people didn’t reason about their beliefs, but only argued.  I didn’t think there was a man like that to be found so late in the century, especially a young man.  But that was just where I was mistaken.  If there was to be a man of that kind at all, it would have to be a young one.  He’ll be a good deal opener-minded when he’s older.  He was conscientious; I could see that; and he did take the Russian’s death to heart as long as he was dead.  But I’d like to talk with him ten years from now; he wouldn’t be where he is.”

Clementina was still silent, and she walked up the church steps from the gondola without the power to speak.  She made no show of interest in the pictures and statues; she never had really cared much for such things, and now his attempts to make her look at them failed miserably.  When they got back again into the boat he began, “Miss Clementina, I’m afraid I oughtn’t to have spoken as I did of that Mr. Gregory.  If he is a friend of yours—­”

“He is,” she made herself answer.

“I didn’t mean anything against him.  I hope you don’t think I wanted to be unfair?”

“You were not unfair.  But I oughtn’t to have let you say it, Mr. Hinkle.  I want to tell you something—­I mean, I must”—­She found herself panting and breathless.  “You ought to know it—­Mr. Gregory is—­I mean we are—­”