She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. I do not love any one. I'll bet you've been in Hong-Kong these two weeks already, and never a line to me. Here goes. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. “It’s—private. ’ ‘What about the lad?’ said the captain suddenly.
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