She had been far too carefully brought up in Italian ideas of
the old school, however, to make any such self-examination necessary.
She had been told that it was important that she should like and respect
the man she was to marry. She had no reason for not respecting Bosio, so
far as she knew, and she certainly liked him very much indeed.
But she meant to wait until the evening, and give herself a chance to
change her mind once more. After luncheon there was the usual
adjournment to another room for coffee, over which the two men smoked
cigarettes. Veronica expected that Matilde would ask her by a gesture,
or a word in a low tone, whether she were any nearer to a conclusion
than before, but the countess did nothing of the sort, for she was far
too wise; and Veronica was grateful for being left entirely to her own
thoughts in the matter. Nor did Bosio bestow upon her any questioning
glance, nor betray his anxiety in any way except by his pallor, which he
could not help, of course. Veronica thought that once or twice his eyes
brightened unnaturally, in the course of conversation; and in his manner
towards her she might have fancied that there was a shade more than
usual of that sort of affectionate deference which all women love,
though they love it most in the strong, and it sometimes irritates them
a little in the weak, for a passing moment, when their caprice would
rather be ruled than flattered. Bosio made no attempt to be alone with
her, and at the end of half an hour both he and his brother departed to
their own quarters.
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