Matilde could not undo the work of many years by a word and a gesture.

His hell was already a desert without her.

But now, there was no drawing back.
Forty-eight hours ago, in that very room, almost at that hour, he had told Matilde that he would never marry Veronica Serra.

And now, almost on the same spot, and facing the same way, he was telling Veronica Serra that he would do his best to make her happy.
"I am sure you will," she answered.
"I should deserve evil things if I did not," he said, passing his hand over his eyes, to shut out the sight of the innocence that faced him.
Suddenly it came over him that she must expect him to say more, to be passionate, to say that he loved her beyond all mortal things, and set her far above immortality itself, and such unproportioned phrases of the love-sick when the instant healing of response touches the fainting heart.

All that, she must expect.