The day wore on. Orsino finished his work as thoroughly as though he
had been a paid clerk, put everything in order and went away. Late in
the afternoon he went to see Maria Consuelo. He knew that she would
usually be already out at that hour, and he fancied that he was leaving
something to chance in the matter of finding her, though an
unacknowledged instinct told him that she would stay at home after the
fatigue of the morning.
"We shall not be interrupted by Count Spicca to-day," she said, as he
sat down beside her.
In spite of what he knew, the hard tone of her voice roused again in
Orsino that feeling of pity for the old man which he had felt on the
previous day.
"Does it not seem to you," he asked, "that if you receive him at all,
you might at least conceal something of your hatred for him?"
"Why should I? Have you forgotten what I told you yesterday?"
"It would be hard to forget that, though you told me no details. But it
is not easy to imagine how you can see him at all if he killed your
husband deliberately in a duel.
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