The consequence was that Orsino found himself helping Maria Consuelo
into the modest hired conveyance which awaited her at the gate. He hoped
that she would offer him a seat for a short distance, but he was
disappointed.
"May I come to-morrow?" he asked, as he closed the door of the carriage.
The night was not cold and the window was down.
"Please tell the coachman to take me to the Via Nazionale," she said
quickly.
"What number?"
"Never mind--he knows--I have forgotten. Good-night."
She tried to draw up the window, but Orsino held his hand on it.
"May I come to-morrow?" he asked again.
"No."
"Are you angry with me still?"
"No."
"Then why--"
"Let me shut the window. Take your hand away."
Her voice was very imperative in the dark. Orsino relinquished his hold
on the frame, and the pane ran up suddenly into its place with a
rattling noise. There was obviously nothing more to be said.
"Via Nazionale. The Signora says you know the house," he called to the
driver.
The man looked surprised, shrugged his shoulders after the manner of
livery stable coachmen and drove slowly off in the direction indicated.
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