CHAPTER IX.
The weather changed during the night, and when Veronica awoke in the morning the gusty southwest was driving the rain from the roof of the opposite house into a grey whirl of spray that struck across swiftly, to scourge the thick panes with a thousand lashes of watery lace.
As Veronica watched her maid opening the heavy old-fashioned shutters, one by one, the sight of each wet window hurt her a little more, progressively, until, when all were visible, she could have cried out of sheer disappointment.

For she had unconsciously been looking forward to another day like yesterday, calm and clear and peaceful with much sunshine.

But even in Naples it cannot always be spring in December--though it generally is in January.

She had hoped for just such another day as the preceding one.

She had remembered how she and Taquisara had stood in the sunlight by the marble steps in Bianca Corleone's garden, and she had expected to stand there again this morning with Gianluca, to hear what he had to say.
That was impossible, however, and while she was slowly dressing she tried to decide what she should do.