Her conscience
smote her--it was all because of her! And for a moment the answer that
he sought hung on the very tip of her tongue--hung, faltered--and then
raced down her throat again. Her hand drew away from his clasp, and she
almost sobbed, "I can't, I can't. Oh, I would if I could--but I can't!"
Then she heard him say gently: "Give me an answer later--I am not such,
just now, that I can hold my own--I will wait till I am strong again.
Will you give me your answer then?" Half choking, she nodded her head in
assent and hurried from the room.
St. Anthony, the great Dane, who, since Giovanni's illness, had attached
himself to Nina, stalked after her. She went through the intervening
rooms into the picture gallery, and there dropped down upon a low marble
seat and took the big dog's head in her arms.
She believed in Giovanni's disinterestedness; he had given her every
reason to think he truly loved her. It seemed to her that she had seen
his real feeling grow gradually. If she could believe in any one _ever_,
she must believe in him. Even the astute little Zoya Olisco had
confirmed the impression by saying that all Rome knew that Giovanni
cared nothing for money. There had been a very rich girl--all the
fortune hunters were after her--and she was so strongly attracted to
Giovanni that she made no effort to disguise her preference for him.
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