Even then, when she was alone with Veronica, Matilde did not return to the subject which was uppermost and above all important in her mind. With amazing tact and self-control she talked pleasantly enough, though she managed to place herself with her back to the light, so that Veronica could not see her expression clearly. At last she rose and said that she must go out. The weather had improved a little, and she asked Veronica to go with her. But the young girl had no desire to be driven through Naples in a closed carriage a second time that day, and she went away to her own room, with the intention of spending a quiet afternoon by the fire with her novel.
On the previous evening she had read a little over her dinner, and from time to time during the short evening she had returned to the book, feeling that it was easier to read than to think, and much more satisfactory. She took the volume now, but she could not read at all. She was overcome by a wish which seemed wholly unaccountable, to send for Bosio to meet her in the drawing-room, and to tell him outright that she was willing to marry him. Nothing but maidenly self-respect prevented her from doing so at once, and the hours seemed very long before dinner. Many times she rose from her seat by the fire and moved about her room in an objectless way, touching things uselessly and looking for things which were not lost, which she did not want, but which she could not find. She wished that she had her great jewels. She would have tried them on before the mirror--anything to pass the time. But they were all safely stored in one of the safest banks.
She grew more and more restless as the minutes passed and the dinner hour approached. Looking at herself in the glass, she said that her cheeks were no longer sallow, as they had seemed to be in the morning. There was a fresh colour in them, and it was becoming to her and pleased her. Her soft hair had fallen a little upon each side of her brows, and her eyes were brilliantly bright. She looked at them when the twilight was coming on, and they seemed to shine, with wide pupils, having a light of their own.
At last the time came. Before she rang for her maid, who had brought lights and had gone away again, she stood a moment before the fire and looked once more at Bosio's photograph, asking herself seriously for the last time whether she should marry him or not. But the answer was there before the question, and she had made up her mind.