Riccardo's words made Justine feel as if he could see right into her. She couldn't bear that scrutiny, and closed her eyes. Understanding everything in that gesture, he rose sharply to his feet and moved away from her.

"This is not how it must be between us," he insisted.

"Why do you have to analyze everything?" she cried. "Leave the inside of my head alone. What happens in there is nothing to you."

"If you were just a brief fling that might be true. But you matter. I want to make love to you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, but it has to be all of you, your heart and your mind, as well as your body."

"Maybe I don't have all that to give. Why can't you be satisfied with what there is?"

"Because you're worth so much more," he said simply.

He went to the trapdoor and held out his hand to her. "Come."

"Where?"

"I'm taking you home."

There was nothing to do but agree. The night was suddenly dead. On the way down he collected one of his jackets, and slipped it about her shoulders.

"Where are we going?" she asked, for he didn't turn toward the landing stage.

"It's only a short walk. The boat brought us almost in a circle, and now the palazzo is just a few streets away."

"How quiet everything is," she said, listening to their feet echoing on the flagstones.

"This is the best time," he said, "when the people have gone in, and the ghosts come out."

"Ghosts?"

"Venice is full of ghosts. They haunt the corners and the little alleyways in the twilight. But don't be afraid. They're friendly ghosts. In Venice they have known love, and been happy, and now they cannot bear to leave it."

She tried to be sensible. It would be easy to become drunk with the words of this charming dreamer. But being sensible didn't really seem very important any more.