Chapter 2

‘Do you suppose she knows?’ asked Marcellus, frowning.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What makes you think so?’

‘The daughter of Legate Gallus appears to have been weeping, sir.’

Marcellus winced and shook his head.

‘I hardly know what to say to her,’ he confided, mostly to himself, a dilemma that Demetrius made no attempt to solve. ‘But’—Marcellus sighed—’I suppose I must see her.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Demetrius, departing on his errand.

Turning toward the balustrade, Marcellus watched his sister’s dejected figure moving slowly through the arbors, and his heart was suffused with pity. He had never seen Lucia so forlorn and undone. It was not much wonder if she had a reluctance to meet Diana in her present state of collapse. Something told him that this impending interview with Diana was likely to be difficult. He had not often been alone with her, even for a moment. This time they would not only be alone, but in circumstances extremely trying. He was uncertain what attitude he should take toward her.

She was coming now, out through the peristyle, walking with her usual effortless grace, but lacking animation. It was unlike Demetrius to send a guest to the pergola unattended, even though well aware that Diana knew the way. Damn Demetrius!—he was behaving very strangely this afternoon. Greeting Diana might be much more natural and unconstrained if he were present. Marcellus sauntered along the pavement to meet her. It was true, as Lucia had said; Diana was growing up—and she was lovelier in this pensiveness than he had ever seen her. Perhaps the bad news had taken all the adolescent bounce out of her. But, whatever might account for it, Diana had magically matured. His heart speeded a little. The elder-brotherly smile with which he was preparing to welcome her seemed inappropriate if not insincere, and as Diana neared him, his eyes were no less sober than hers.

She gave him both hands, at his unspoken invitation, and looked up from under her long lashes, winking back the tears and trying to smile. Marcellus had never faced her like this before, and the intimate contact stirred him. As he looked deeply into her dark eyes, it was almost as if he were discovering her; aware, for the first time, of her womanly contours, her finely sculptured brows, the firm but piquant chin, and the full lips—now parted with painful anxiety—disclosing even white teeth, tensely locked.

‘I am glad you came, Diana.’ Marcellus had wanted this to sound fraternal, but it didn’t. He was intending to add, ‘Lucia will want to see you presently’—but he didn’t; nor did he release her hands. It mystified him that she could stand still that long.

‘Are you really going—tonight?’ she asked, in a husky whisper.

Marcellus stared into her uplifted eyes, marveling that the tempestuous, teasing, unpredictable Diana had suddenly become so winsome.

‘How did you know?’ he queried. ‘Who could have told you so soon? I learned about it myself not more than three hours ago.’