"If we weren't such old friends and you didn't know what a blundering fool I am, I wouldn't dare to apologize for this morning. Judge me by intent, though, won't you—and forgive me?
"If we weren't such old friends and you didn't know what a blundering fool I am, I wouldn't dare to apologize for this morning. Judge me by intent, though, won't you—and forgive me?
"Jack."
Nina broke off a rose and fastened it to the lapel of her habit; but the note she tucked in between the buttonholes. Suddenly humming a gay little song, she ran through the rooms and corridors to join her aunt and uncle, who were waiting for her to motor out to the hunt, the horses having been sent ahead with the grooms. As they drove out of the courtyard she noticed that the sun was brilliantly shining.
At the meet the scene was really animated, for the day was perfect, and the Via Appia was a bright moving picture of carriages, large and small, big motors and little runabouts, the road dotted here and there with the brilliant scarlet coats of those whowere to hunt and the bright colors of women's dresses in the various conveyances.
There was apparently much lack of system: the huntsmen chatted aimlessly with persons in the carriages; while the hounds scurried around according to their own inclinations, paying little attention to the snap of the whip. The Contessa Potensi, who had appeared in a pink hunting coat, was the cynosure of all eyes. The innovation created quite a stir and no little admiration. She bowed to Nina with unusual civility, and made a formal acknowledgment of the pleasure of riding with her. Yet shortly after, when she joined a group of friends a distance farther on, she was laughing and glancing back as she spoke, in a way that left little doubt that she was making disparaging remarks.
Sansevero and Giovanni had mounted their hunters, and now joined Nina, but that gave her little pleasure, for the contessa immediately returned. Nina was glad when Donna Francesca Dobini and the young Prince Allegro cantered up. Donna Francesca was soon talking with Sansevero, leaving Nina to Allegro—an attractive youth, but light as a bit of fluff.
As for Giovanni, she felt that he was as unstable as the dead leaves which the wind at that moment was blowing around and around. They were graceful, too, those leaves, and Giovanni was fascinating, agile, charming—but in case one counted upon him seriously, where would he be? Smiling sweetly, no doubt,at some other woman, and telling her that her eyes were twin lakes of heaven's blue, or forest pools in which his heart was lost forever.
The contrasting image of John Derby came sharply to mind. John was going to Sicily to do a man's work in a man's way. A little later she noticed Tornik, who was cantering ahead of her: his figure was not unlike John's—he was strong and masculine. She wondered aimlessly if they might be in any other way alike. Supposing, in some unaccountable situation she were to be thrown upon his chivalry for protection, what would he do? Shrug his shoulders and look bored? Or detail a company from his regiment to stand guard over her? The idea made her laugh.
"You are gay this morning," observed Giovanni, light-heartedly joining in her laughter.
With a quizzical little expression Nina looked at him—"I wonder if you would be amused if you knew why I laughed."
"NINA LOOKED AT HIM—'I WONDER IF YOU WOULD BE AMUSED IF YOU KNEW WHY I LAUGHED'""NINA LOOKED AT HIM—'I WONDER IF YOU WOULD BE AMUSED IF YOU KNEW WHY I LAUGHED'"
"If it gives you pleasure—it is delicious, whatever it is!"
All the softness went out of the girl's brown eyes; they glittered curiously. "Yes," she said, "that is just what I thought." After which ambiguous remark she returned to her former gayety—"Come," she said, "let's go fast; we shall be the last!" Urging her horse, she galloped across the fields.
She would have been at a loss to understand her own vacillations of mood that day: she seemed to feel an unaccountable revulsion against every one. Thegesticulations of the men around her, their airs and blandishments, annoyed her. Not an hour earlier she had found John dull and flat by comparison with Europeans. Now suddenly they were effeminate dandies, and John alone was a real man.
But the exhilaration of jumping brought her to a more equable frame of mind, and at the first check she and the Prince Allegro were in the lead. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright from the long gallop.
They had stopped on a knoll out on the Campagna, and Nina remained apart from the other hunters, walking her horse slowly, while Allegro went over to the carriage to get a handkerchief for her from the Princess Sansevero. She drew in deep breaths of the fresh air, as she gazed out over the rolling hills to the snowclad tops of the Albanian mountains glistening in the sunshine.
Then suddenly a deep, oily voice jarred through her wandering thoughts. "You are very pensive!" exclaimed the Duke Scorpa, appearing beside her.
Nina started violently, for, besides his unexpected appearance, there was something in this man's personality that always sent a shudder through her.
"The Marchese di Valdo has been telling me that I am very gay," she answered, not so much to give the duke the information as to contradict him.
"Then I am doubly sad, since you are gay with others, and absent-minded when I come." A lurking familiarity in his smile made Nina wince. Heranged his horse so close that his boots brushed against hers, and she pulled aside quickly; he did not move close again, but he checked her attempt to pass him, keeping between her and the other riders.
"Why are you so cruel?" he murmured. "Diana never had so many votaries as Venus."
"I am not interested in mythology," said Nina, her heart fluttering with fright. "Please allow me to pass—I want to join my uncle."
"Sweet, pale little Diana,"—he leaned over in his saddle and purred the words at her—"where mythology failed was in not marrying Diana to Mars. Exactly as—you are going to marry me!"
"I will not! I told you before I would not! Let me pass!" She pulled the reins so taut that her horse reared as she urged him forward, but again the duke ranged his horse close beside her, heading off her attempt to get past.
"A woman's 'won't' as often means she will," he answered deliberately. "It is when she says she is not certain that her irrevocable decision is made."
"I hate you, I utterly hate you!" cried Nina, her anger getting the better of her fear.
The duke laughed maliciously. "I had scarcely hoped to make so deep a mark on your emotions! If you hate me, then truly you will marry me!—against your will, if need be," he added, reining back his horse at last. "I will wait to make you love me afterward."
At this point Allegro returned with the handkerchief, and the duke let Nina pass. Tornik, also, now joined her, the master of the hounds gave the signal, and again the riders were off. Nina, between Tornik and Allegro, was protected from the duke's approach, but she kept apprehensively glancing back. She looked about for her uncle, but could not see him.
As a matter of fact, Sansevero's horse had strained itself slightly in one of the jumps, and he had thought it best to drop out of the hunt. He had gone only a short distance on his way toward Rome when he was joined by Scorpa, who said that he did not care to ride farther but would go back with Sansevero. The prince was glad of his company until Scorpa began:
"You have not yet given me a favorable answer to my proposal for Miss Randolph's hand."
The abruptness with which the subject was introduced irritated Sansevero, and he answered sulkily: "I told you, when you first spoke to me, that it was a matter Miss Randolph would have to decide for herself. An American girl never allows other people to arrange her marriage for her, and I found my niece not at all disposed to reconsider her answer."
An ugly light shone in the duke's eyes. "I do not want to seem importunate," he said, "but—I would do very much for the man who furthered my marriage with Miss Randolph, and you would findthe alliance of our families of great advantage. I am a hot-blooded fellow, but I'm not such a bad lot. I cannot help being wounded, though, by your niece's indifference, and in jealousy of a rival I might do things that otherwise would not enter my head. This is—eh—not a threat—but it is a family trait—the Scorpas stop at nothing once their hearts are aflame! Think it over, my friend, before you decide not to help me."
He sighed deeply and then, as though turning his attention to the first trivial thought that came to mind, he said casually: "By the way, I have been reading lately an extremely interesting book on celebrated criminal cases, and I was particularly impressed by the way in which circumstantial evidence can be built up out of harmless trifles. Since reading it I have been rather amusing myself by constructing hypothetical cases. For instance"—Scorpa pursed his lips and lowered his eyes, as though trying to invent a fanciful story—"take a transaction such as your letting me have that picture. One could build a very stirring case upon that!"
"Yes?" encouraged the prince. "How do you mean?"
"Well, to begin, we would send word to the government that your Raphael Madonna had been sold out of the country."
"I don't think that a good beginning, because it is easy enough to prove it is in your palace."
"Ah, of course. But for the amusement of the argument we will say that Iwantto do you an injury and so smuggle it out of the country! Then when I am questioned, I deny all knowledge of it. Yes, I would have you there! It would be quite feasible, because no one saw the picture change hands, and your notes to me—the only proof of the transfer—could easily be destroyed. You see? This really grows interesting! Then comes all the cumulative evidence of the type I was speaking about; for instance: After the supposed sale of the picture, you indulge in unwonted expenditures—of course, it is easy to say that they are those of the American heiress stopping with you"—he paused, in apparent thoughtfulness—"but when, in addition, an enemy buys in Paris a pair of earrings, matchless emeralds, that are recognized as having been worn——"
"Dio mio!My wife's emeralds!" Sansevero was startled into exclaiming. Then suddenly he blazed out: "What do you mean by your story? If you have anything to say, say it so I can follow you."
From the gross lips of the duke his apology fell like drops of thickest oil: "I regret you take my pleasantry so ill, and I ask your pardon as many times as you require, my friend! It happened by chance that I saw a pair of emeralds in Paris that were duplicates of the magnificent gems I have often admired when the princess wore them, and thejeweler told me that they had been sold at a sacrifice by a noble lady in urgent need of money. The curious coincidence came to my mind in illustration of the problems I was talking of. Further than that I meant nothing—except that I was serious in what I said about repaying the man who should bring about my marriage."
They had long since passed through the Porta San Giovanni and had arrived at the Coliseum. Scorpa gave Sansevero little chance to answer, but with a friendly good-by, he turned toward the Monte Quirinal. Sansevero pursued his way along the foot of the Palatine. He was disturbed; but he could not bring himself to read into the duke's words a covert threat. His first impulse was to repeat the conversation to Eleanor, but he knew how the mere suspicion that Scorpa had detected her false stones had worried her. Curiously enough, in Sansevero's mind the larger issue of the picture was quite overlooked in the more immediate consideration of the jewels. By the time he reached home he had decided to wait until further events should show Scorpa's intentions. And until then he would say nothing to any one—least of all to Eleanor.
In the meantime Nina was galloping across the Campagna. For a while the fear of Scorpa remained, but when she realized that he was no longer with the hunt, she breathed more freely, and again began to enjoy the day. It was almost as though she were riding through the country at home. Shemight have been hunting in Westchester, or on Long Island, for any actual difference that there was, and the finish, as at home, was merely anise seed, and the hounds were fed raw meat.
Kate Titherington, daughter of Alonzo K. Titherington, the Pittsburg iron magnate, had some six years before married the Count Masco. After a short experience of living in his ancestral palace, they had moved into an apartment out in the new part of the city; very handsome, very luxurious and modern in every way. "Deliver me from these musty old dungeons!" she had exclaimed to her husband. "I will give a free deed of gift to the rats, who are really, my dear, the only beings I can think of to whom this tumbledown barracks of yours would be comfortable." Her husband was a meek and inoffensive appendage, who had been well brought up by an overbearing mother and turned over, perfectly trained, to the strenuous requirements of the bonny Kate.
The vivid Countess Masco,néeTitherington, was looked upon with disfavor by the more conservative Romans, and her position was rather, one might say, on the outer edge of the inner circle. There were those who liked her, and who found her amusing and lively; indeed, that was the trouble—it was her liveliness that had banished her to theouter edge, instead of making a place for her in the inmost circle, where Eleanor Sansevero, for instance, was so securely established.
Nina had known Kate Titherington one summer at Bar Harbor, but her first encounter with this flamboyant personality in Italy was at the Grand Hotel a few days before the hunt. Nina was serving at one of the tables of a charity tea, when she saw a very highly-colored, plump figure, with draperies in full sail, bearing down upon her from the top of the wide steps, at the back of the big red hall. The red of the hall paled beside the cerise costume of the approaching lady. In a voice loud and high-keyed, yet not unmusical, she cried:
"Well, I declare if it isn't little Nina Randolph!" And then with exuberant good humor she called to her husband, who followed lamb-like in her wake, "You see, Gio, itisthe little Randolph—I told you so!
"This is my husband." She presented him as though he were some inanimate personal possession. "We have been in Paris and Monte Carlo all winter. Got back yesterday. Nice old place, Rome, don't you think so? I dote on it, but of course it gets provincial if you stay too long!" At the same moment she caught sight of Zoya Olisco, and waved to her. To Nina's surprise, the young Russian came forward with both hands outstretched. "Ah, you are back? What was the news in Monte Carlo?"
"Nothing much. They still talk of thecoupthat Tornik——" But before Nina could hear the end of the sentence, the old Princess Malio handed her a five-lirenote for tea, and Nina had to get change. Then the whole family of the Rosenbaums, eight in number, demanded her services for many cups of tea and as many plates of sandwiches and cakes, and when their change was counted, the Countess Kate and her attendant husband were leaving. The countess, however, called back over her shoulder, "You are dining with me on Friday; the princess said yes for you!"
And so it was that on the evening of the hunt Nina, alone with her uncle—her aunt having stayed at home on account of a headache—found herself entering a big new apartment house, and going up in an elevator, quite as though she were at home in one of the most modern, instead of one of the most ancient, cities in the world.
The Masco apartment was all brand-new—so new that there was still about it an odor of fresh paint and plaster, and the pungency of raw textiles. The Countess Kate, not to be outdone by her decorator, was as new as her surroundings—in the latest style of sheath dress, of a brilliant blue, which she wore triumphantly, regardless of the strain with which it stretched across the amplitude of herbosom.
The company consisted of the Oliscos, Count Tornik, Prince Minotti, Count Rosso, Prince Allegro,Eliot Porter, and John Derby. It gave Nina a sudden feeling of satisfaction to see how attractive John was by comparison with the others. He had a quiet reserve and a forcefulness that Nina thought very effective in this foreign surrounding, and she was ashamed of herself for having judged him by the shallow standard of mere social grace.
The Countess Masco's parties were renowned for their gayety. She was one of those hostesses whose vivacity never relaxes, and whose ready answers pass for sparkling wit. According to her own standard, a party was a success or a failure as it was noisy or quiet. Consequently she talked and laughed continuously. Startling colors were her particular weakness, and by the scent of extract of tuberose she could be traced for days.
Nina sat between Eliot Porter and the young Prince Allegro; but her attention wandered across the table to John Derby so constantly that the Prince Allegro remarked, "You seem to be entranced by that American!"
"Mr. Derby happens to be my oldest and my best friend!" Nina answered. Then, realizing that she had made the statement sententiously, she smiled brightly. "You Europeans so often say that American men are unattractive," she said. "Over there you may behold one of 'our best!'"
Without rancor or jealousy, the young prince seemed entirely to agree with her opinion. "Why is it we so seldom meet those Americans you call'best'?" he asked, between spoonfuls ofpurée d'écrevisse.
"Because they are those who have to stay at home and work." And then she added, "They are saints—don't you think?"
"They are very stupid, I should say."
Nina let her spoon rest on the rim of her plate. "That's not polite of you."
"Why? Since it is true. Of course they are stupid! They let their women, who are adorable, come over to us. Would I, do you think, if you were my wife, allow you so much as to go out for an afternoon's drive without me? Never! To prove further that your men are stupid—in no country are there so many divorces as in America!"
"It is not because our men are stupid, at all events!"
"Then why is it?"
"Chiefly because our men have too little time to give us." And then she spoke under sudden stress of feeling, without perhaps knowing the full wisdom of what she said: "Do you suppose that if our men at home had time for us, wewouldcome over here, to you?"
"Then all the more are the Americans fools!" He raised his champagne glass. "Signorina," he said, "may you find the American whohasthe time."
Involuntarily her glance went toward John. Allegro saw it and laughed. "Ah, ha! So that iswhy we have no chance? Still," he added on second thought, "your choice does you credit."
"He is not my choice, he is my friend. You don't understand! At home a girl has men friends exactly as she has girl friends. I wonder how I can make it clear to you—we are all like a big family. They might as well be my brothers, many of the men I know; there is not a bit of sentiment in our liking for each other."
"There is no sentiment between you and the man over there?" Allegro twisted the blond down on his upper lip, laughing at her out of the corners of his eyes. "I may be little more than a boy, signorina, but there is one thing that I know quite well when I see it, and that is a person who is in love. Human nature is the same all over the world. Your American men can, after all, have only the same emotions that we have over here. It is as plain as the dome on St. Peter's—you may see it from every direction. That man over there is in love with you!Ecco!"
"He is nothing of the sort! You Italians are mad on the subject. I told you you could not understand. You are different, that is all."
Allegro shrugged his shoulders. "As you please! I tell you he is! And what is more, you are in love with him. After all"—he put up his hand to ward off interruption—"I had much rather think you declined my own suit because your affections were already given before I was so unhappy as to see you,than that, while your heart was still free, you would not consider me."
Nina was so surprised that for a few minutes she was unable to answer. Allegro had never said a word to her about the proposal which had been made by his family. Up to that moment she had thought he did not himself know of it.
"Heart?" she said, bewildered. "Did you put any heart into the offer that was made? None has ever been shown to me."
"Is there a chance of your considering my suit?" He asked it very seriously.
Nina shook her head, and Allegro sighed as though dejected; then, having paid her this compliment, he became cheerful again and his candor was as delicious as it was astonishing.
"Shall I tell you? Yes, I will! If you had said 'yes,' I should have found it very easy to love you. As you won't accept my name, however——"
"You don't love me, is that it?" Nina burst out laughing, and Allegro joined light-heartedly, as he nodded his agreement. Their gayety attracted the attention of their neighbors, and for a while the conversation became general. It was suggestive of the Tower of Babel. Nina had turned to Porter with a remark in English, but Allegro added to it in Italian. Tornik, whose Italian was only slightly more villainous than his English, chimed in across the corner of the table in French, but he soon forgot himself and broke into German. Nina found herself mixing her sentences like Neapolitan ice cream into four languages, until finally she put her hands over her ears and exclaimed, "Attendez, aspetarre, warten sie nur, oh, do let us decide on one tongue at a time!" They all laughed, and then, as is usual among a group of various nationalities, the conversation went on in French.
Finally, Tornik and Allegro got into a discussion about the Austrian influence in Italy, and Nina was lefttête-à-têtewith Eliot Porter.
She had not met him before coming to Rome. He was a Californian. A Westerner, she put it, but he answered her, "Not at all! I am from the Pacific coast!" He was an agreeable man, much liked in Rome, and he was writing a book on Roman society, a fact that greatly amused the Italians. There was some mild and good-naturedly satirical speculation about what he was going to put in it, but beyond the fact that he acknowledged his subject, nothing was known of either his plot or his characters.
"Dotell me what you are going to put in your book. Is it of to-day, or long ago?"
"The story is to be laid in Rome, the theme society, the time the present."
"How fascinating! Ah, please tell me from whom you have drawn your heroine," Nina continued. "Is she rich or poor? Italian, I suppose, and of course young and beautiful! Is the hero anoble duke or an American on the Prisoner of Zenda or Graustark model?"
"Supposing I should tell you that they were yourself, for the one, and our friend Jack over the way, for the other!"
The coupling of her name with Derby's for the second time in less than half an hour struck Nina, and she became absent-minded; then she said vaguely, "But we are not Italians, either of us."
"Neither are my characters! I will tell you," he said, admitting her to his confidence, "I am going to write of the Expatriates—the people who, to those at home, are always said to be 'abroad.' The story from this side of the water is interesting to me. And the Excelsior is an ideal field for observing them."
"I see!" Then ingenuously, "Are you really going to put Jack in your book?"
Porter smiled, amused. "He hardly corresponds to my aimless nomad wandering hither and yon, with neither ambition nor destination! By the way," he added abruptly, "what do youthinkof Jack? I am not asking this, mind you, just to make conversation, but because I am interested in him as a national type. I confess I was beginning to think that no woman could care for the men at home as any woman might for the Europeans, until he came along the other day." There was no doubting Porter's enthusiasm as he added, "He gave me back my idealsof my own country! He isreal, I tell you. But this trip he is going to take into Sicily——"
"There is no danger in this day, surely!" she interrupted.
"I am not so sure of it, they are pesky devils!" Then, appreciating her uneasiness, he tried to reassure her. "Jack will be all right, he will be well protected. In fact, to show you how little I really fear from the adventure, I am thinking of going with him. My work is getting stale, and a week or two of change of scene would set me up."
"I don't see that your going proves there is no danger. I should never imagine you the type of a coward."
Porter laughed. "Thank you for your good opinion of my type. But I am not at all certain about it myself. If I thought I was going to run any risk of being stabbed in the ribs, or riddled with bullets, I assure you I would preserve my skin very carefully by staying right here. But to go back to John: Did you ever study physiognomy?" He glanced across at Derby as he spoke.
Nina's lips broke into a smile, as she answered, "No. Did you?"
"Yes. I studied that, and palmistry, and graphology, too. Look at John—he has a remarkably interesting head and hand. You are quite wrong," he answered an interjection of Nina's, "his hands are far from ugly! Spatulate fingers show invention and energy. Just look at his thumb!Did you ever see such cool-headed logic or a better balanced will? Why, all in all, I consider him the best-looking man I know! There are plenty with better features, no doubt, but if I'd had my choice as to looks, I should have been his twin."
Nina laughed joyously. "Do you mean it?" It sounded incredible to her, yet she felt strangely pleased—she looked at John from a new point of view. "I think he has a great many good points; there is something strong and admirable about him, but good-looking—never! His features are too uneven, too big-boned."
"Just like a woman!" exclaimed Porter testily. "I suppose you think that apology on your other side a beau ideal!"
Nina glanced critically toward the small features and blond curls of Allegro. "No," she said, "he is much too effeminate."
"Then who is your Adonis?"
"The best-looking man I have ever seen? Well—I think I'd choose the Marchese di Valdo." The pink mounted over her cheeks into her hair, for she thought Porter was going to deride. To her surprise he agreed with her.
"Of his type, yes, he certainly is good; but I prefer John's. I can see how di Valdo would appeal to a girl, though personally I should ask more masculinity, more bone and sinew."
Nina remembered how Giovanni had nearlychoked the Great Dane, and she shuddered slightly. "Oh, but he is strong," she exclaimed; "he is strong as a panther! He always makes me think of Bagheera in the Jungle Book."
"Bagheera was warm-blooded; there was truth and affection in him—for Mowgli, at all events. Your friend di Valdo is as cold a proposition as you could find."
Nina thought this last characterization absurd, and said so.
"All right!" Porter answered. "You mark my word. He is a man swayed by the emotions of the moment. He has feeling, yes—but no heart; he has certain inborn principles, but they are racial rather than ethical. His is the code ofNoblesse oblige, not of the Golden Rule. In a point of honor he is irreproachable, but it is he, himself, who defines the boundaries of his code."
He paused a moment and continued in a more personal tone: "I don't know you very well, Miss Randolph, but you are a girl from home. And—excuse my frankness—you are one of our great heiresses. I am a stranger to you, and that is why I am going to say something—perhaps all the more forcefully because I have only a racial and not a personal interest: but between marrying Giovanni Sansevero—or that Austrian over yonder—or the golden-headed ornament on your right, and such a man as John Derby, no woman with an ounce of sense could for one minute hesitate. The first, bythe gift of kings, are noblemen, but John over there, by the grace of God, is aman!"
Nina was so deeply stirred by his words that she sat for a little while quite motionless, looking down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. Then, before she either looked up or answered, the women left the table.
In the drawing-room, as the other women lighted their cigarettes, Nina stood leaning her cheek on her hand as it rested against the mantel—and for some time she gazed down into the fire, while Porter's words echoed and reëchoed through her mind. When she turned away from the fire her attention was caught by an Englishwoman who had thrown herself full length on the sofa. Her person was a curious mixture of cleanliness and untidiness, her face was even polished by soap and scrubbing, but her frock, although probably quite clean, looked anything but fresh, and lying down among the cushions had not improved her hair, which had been frowzily frizzed anyway. Nina would have thought Lady Dorothy an impossible person were it not for the "Lady" which, as Carpazzi put it, "was pushed before the name."
In the meanwhile Lady Dorothy went off into a long disquisition upon the advisability of having couches at formal banquets as in the old Roman days. The illustration which she was at the moment affording was scarcely, to Nina's mind, encouraging to her proposition. She smoked rapidlyand let the cigarette ashes spill all down the side of her neck.
"Isn't it funny what a little place the world is?" babbled the late Miss Titherington, cutting short Lady Dorothy's discourse. "Here we are, you and I and John—just the same as though we were back in Bar Harbor! What a lamb of a child you used to be! Only do you remember the day you nearly drowned me? And he had to rescue us both!"
"Just fancy that!" said the Lady Dorothy from her corner of the sofa. "However did it happen?"
"The water in Maine is so cold one dare hardly go in. Nina was a little girl, she got a cramp, and clutched me around the neck."
"The water cold! How very odd! I had a friend in St. Augustine, who said the water was positively hot. I am sure it must have been, as my friend has rheumatism and could never have ventured into a cold bath."
Lady Dorothy lighted a fresh cigarette and waved the old one helplessly around in her fingers. Nina, afraid that she would let it fall upon the trail of ashes down the front of her dress, went to take it from her.
"Oh, thanks." She threw herself even further back into the cushions and now addressed her remarks to the Countess Kate. She was glad to get away from home. She declared London was overrun this season with enormously, disgustingly, rich Americans. No offense to her hostess was meant,but it was really quite shameful whom one got down to associating with, and yet they were so overloaded with dollars that one might as well, she supposed, gather in some of the surplus! Then she coolly asked Nina's name, which she had not caught. Its announcement had the effect of an electric battery. She raised herself on her elbows.
"The Earl of Eagon is looking for a wife," she announced, and then as though the idea of Nina's wealth were still more felt, she continued almost with enthusiasm, "And there is the Duke of Norchester—his estates need a fortune to keep up, but there are none finer in England."
Nina's expression had a curious little note in it that made the Countess Zoya cross the room and sit on the arm of her chair. Her slim fingers ran lightly over Nina's hair, "You poor child!" she said. "Ah, I am glad I was never so rich. If I were so rich I should be dreadful! I would never believe in any one's caring for me. I should doubt even my Carlo! I could not help it!"
"Don't," Nina said, as though in pain. Zoya impulsively put her arms about her and quickly changed the subject.
"I want to tell you," she said, "I like your friend the engineer—is that what he is? He is very clever, is he not? I am told he is going to relieve the sufferings of the poor Sicilian miners—is he?"
"Suffering?" Nina repeated, wondering. "I don't know. But it is only a business venture, hismining—not a philanthropic one. At least I have not heard about any poor people who are to be relieved."
Zoya put her hands over her eyes and then her ears as though to shut out both sight and sound. "Oh, it is horrible—horrible in the sulphur mines! You have no idea! Nowhere in all the world is life so dreadful." She shuddered, "But I feel sure, somehow, that your friend the American will be able to do something."
They went on talking until theirtête-à-têtewas interrupted by the men coming in from the dining-room. The servants brought in a big card table.
"Are you going to play bridge?" Nina asked, feeling that the answer was obvious.
But the Contessa Masco, taking her cognac at a swallow, glanced at Tornik with a laugh. "Oh, lord, no! Nothing so dull, I hope, in this house!"
Derby joined Nina, and she looked up at him with pride. "I am glad you are here to-night; I seem to be especially glad——" She broke off, but her intonation conveyed unspoken thoughts.
Derby's eyes kindled. "Why especially? Have you a particular reason, really?" His heart beat so hard, because of the sweetness in her expression, that it seemed to him she must hear it pounding, that she must look through the mask he wore, and read his love for her.
But his mask was impenetrable, and Nina answered lightly: "I wonder which reason you wouldlike me to give? I wonder if it would make any real difference to you whether I said justglad—or glad because of something?"
He forced himself to speak with a stolidity that walled in securely his threatening emotions. "I am not a bit good at guessing the meaning of sentences that have no direct statement in them. You see, they are not the kind my grammar book taught me!"
Nina smiled. "You like a regular, straight-out, simple sentence with one subject and one predicate, don't you?"
"That's it! And as few qualifying clauses as possible."
"And as your speech is, so are your actions. No time fortrivialities. Big, serious things!" To her surprise she felt a sharp pain in her throat.
"What an old bear I must seem to you——" His sentence broke off as the Countess Masco interrupted them.
"Come along, John—you'll play, won't you? We are waiting!" Count Rosso had already deserted Zoya for the green table.
"Do you need me?" Derby asked.
"Of course we do! The more the jollier; it is dreadfully dull without a lot."
Nina and the Countess Zoya sat apart talking together until nearly midnight. Finally, with a yawn, Zoya suggested that they try to break up the party. For a little while they looked on. Notunderstanding the game of baccarat, Nina watched the faces of the players.
Suddenly she felt uneasy about her uncle, who had taken a place at the table. Knowing no reason why he should not play, she had thought nothing of that. But now he was flushed, and seemed very excited. Unconsciously taking a leaf out of her aunt's book, she laid her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was, in fact, so like that of his wife that the prince started violently, and a short while later relinquished his place.
After the prince dropped out of the game Nina still stood watching. The Countess Kate played as placidly as though she were dealing cards for "old maid," while her husband reminded Nina of a squirrel sitting up and nibbling at a nut. Carlo Olisco was excited but not unnatural. Porter looked gloomy and taciturn. Minotti and Allegro were both tense and keen, the former arrogant, the latter flushed and excited. John Derby, like the Countess Kate, played exactly as he used to play Jack Straws orbesique, on rainy days in the country.
From where she had been standing Nina could see only the top of Tornik's head and, obeying an idle impulse of curiosity, she crossed to the opposite side of the table. But no sooner had she caught sight of his face than she started as though some one had dashed cold water over her. Tornik! It was unbelievable! His eyes glowed like coals; his lips, half opened, looked dry and burnt, as with thatdrawing-in motion of the confirmed gambler he stretched out his trembling fingers to grasp the last of the evening's winnings.
Nina was not in love with him—she had never even for a moment fancied that she was. But nevertheless the revelation of his greed struck at her pride, and she seemed to see herself, or rather her own fortune, being grasped with precisely that avidity by those same long, eager fingers. "He, too!" were the words that framed themselves in her thoughts. Tornik, at least, had seemed disinterested, but it was only her gold that he was after—like all the rest.
She turned away abruptly. The Count Olisco left the table and, as her uncle was already waiting, Zoya and she said good-night to the Mascos and left.
On the way home, Sansevero was decidedly nervous. Something was wrong, that was certain—he was as transparent as crystal; a child could not have shown trouble more plainly. They drove the Oliscos home, but after they had left them, Nina put her hand on her uncle's coat sleeve.
"Can't you—tell me?" she asked him.
Sansevero started, then shook his head. "It is nothing!" he said. But he changed his mind almost immediately, took his breath as though to speak, and stopped again. Nina's manner had been very sweet, very sympathetic. The thought of confiding in the girl beside him had not entered hishead; but he might as well have tried to dam up a spring, as to keep his confidence from overflowing at the first words of kindness. He seized her hand, and his fingers during a moment of nervous indecision beat a tattoo upon her glove—then he let her hand drop again.
"I am in the most difficult situation."
"Yes——?" Nina encouraged. "Can't I help?—Oh, I wish Icould!"
"No!" He threw himself into the farthest possible corner of the carriage. "No, no! I could not let you do that!"
Quickly a suspicion of the difficulty crossed her mind. "Uncle Sandro, I want you to tell me! You know that I love Aunt Eleanor better than almost any one in the world. If to help you is to help her—and it is in my power—I really think you ought to tell me."
He weakened, hesitated. "Give me your promise you will not tell Leonora——?"
"You have it!" She put her hand back into his.
"It is this, then: I am the weakest man imaginable. To-night I had no idea of playing; I held out for some time, but the temptation was too strong at the end. Also what I lost was very little, but the money was a sum we had put aside to pay household expenses. If I do not pay them, Leonora must know of it."
Between the lines Nina divined a good deal of thewhole story. Other vague suspicions that had come to her here and there helped somewhat to the conclusion.
Already they had driven into the courtyard and the footman was holding open the door. Nina jumped out quickly and entered the palace. In the antechamber she stopped for her uncle to catch up with her. "Just wait a moment," she said; "we can finish our conversation quickly." She spoke rapidly and in English.
"How much is it?"
"Five hundredlire."
She caught her breath. "Do you mean to say thatyou—the Prince Sansevero, the owner of this palace, are in need of a hundred dollars, and don't know where to get it? You shall have it to-morrow, the first thing."
Then suddenly she added: "Uncle Sandro—I want you to tell me something! Will you swear on your honor to answer the truth? If you deceive me, I will never forgive you to my dying day!"
He looked at her, puzzled. There was no doubt as to the gravity of her tone. "I will answer if I can." He said it not without alarm.
"Does your brother gamble? Is he also like Tornik and you?" She had no thought for the stigma of her words, and Sansevero was not so small that he resented them.
"No. I can answer that easily enough. Giovanni has not one drop of the gambling blood.That I can swear to you by the name of my mother!" He made the sign of the cross.
Nina sighed with relief. "I'll send Celeste to you with the money in the morning, and you can trust me—I will never let Aunt Eleanor know!" She said it sympathetically and kindly enough, but her tone was a little constrained. "Good-night!"
And then quickly she left him. She felt sure that her uncle had spoken the truth, and that Giovanni was not a gambler; but as she went down the long corridors she felt a sharp contraction in her throat. "Dear—poor—precious Auntie Princess!" she whispered to herself.
As the winter progressed, Favorita's temper showed so little improvement that those whose duty brought them in contact with her at the theatre were on the verge of resigning their posts. Her dresser had a thoroughly cowed expression; her manager consumed more black cigars than were good for him; thecorps de ballethad hysterics singly and indignation councilsen masse. In fact, the call-boy, who seemed to enjoy tormenting her, was the only member of the company who took her rages cheerfully.
Finally even Giovanni became uneasy; a well-bred woman could be counted on in given circumstances to do thus and so, but Favorita was of lowest peasant birth: her people were of the mountain districts, so primitive in thought and habit that her early training had taught her obedience to nothing higher than impulse. Superficially, she submitted to the dictates of civilization, just as a half-wild animal submits to the control of his trainer. And in a very real sense Giovanni occupied, in relation to her, the trainer's position. He was the force that held her in check; but though to the audience ofthe world he appeared perfectly at ease, a definite apprehensiveness underlay his seeming composure.
Matters at last came to a crisis. Giovanni was about to leave the palace one morning a day or two after the Masco dinner, when a neatly dressed woman passed him on the grand stairway. She was wearing a thick veil, but he had an eye for outline and he knew that there was only one woman in Rome with just that half-floating lightness of movement. At once he blocked her way.
She was forced to halt; but her feet did not stand quite still, and there was an effect of briefly suspended motion in her attitude, as though she sought a chance to dart past him.
"Good-morning, signorina!" Giovanni's urbanity was for the benefit of the footmen. For a few seconds there was a straightening of her figure; poised for flight, she held her head a little to one side as she swiftly scanned his face.
Giovanni dropped his voice. "I was just on my way to see you. Come,cara mia," he said persuasively. "I have something I want to talk over with you—it is impossible here with lackeys listening to everything we may say. Come, dear."
She looked at him a moment, wavering, then shrugged her shoulders. "Very well," she said, and descended the stairs at his side. They crossed the wide hall, and she stopped to gaze about it in wonder and curiosity, even though she did not appreciate the splendor of its proportions. The greatbaldachino, of blue and silver, surmounting the Sansevero arms, held her attention.
"Do the broken silver chains in your coat of arms represent mercy or weakness?" she asked.
"Both, probably," he answered grimly, as he caught the sound of an automobile chugging in the courtyard. Feeling sure that it was Nina's car, he slipped his arm through Favorita's to urge her forward, whereupon she grew suspicious and lagged purposely. She looked deliberately about, as though she were a tourist intent upon finding every object starred in Baedeker. To his inward rage and chagrin, Giovanni realized his mistake in having attempted to hurry her, and now changed his tactics. Although his every nerve was strained to catch the sound of Nina's approaching footfall, he went into a long, prosy dissertation upon the history of the ceiling, dwelling purposely upon the dullest facts he could think of, until his tormentor was glad enough to leave.
Once outside the building, Giovanni breathed more freely, although the sight of the automobile confirmed his apprehension. Hailing a cab, he put Favorita into it and got in after her. They had not gone more than five hundred yards when Nina, alone in the car, passed them. Giovanni had stooped over quickly so that she might not recognize him; but Favorita took no notice of this, or anything else, and they drove on in a silence broken only by occasional and casual remarks. Itwas not until they were safely within her apartment that he demanded:
"And now, Fava, perhaps you will have the goodness to explain to me what you were doing at the Palazzo Sansevero when I saw you, and how you got past theportiere?"
"At least it shows you that what I try to do I accomplish," she retorted with an air of bravado. She leaned her elbows on a little table, looking across at Giovanni, her lips parted, her eyes dancing. "Do you wish to hear? Very well. I have a friend who gives the American heiress lessons in Italian. She says it is easy—one has only to talk Italian and make her talk, and tell her when she makes mistakes. My friend is sick. She sent a letter, which I intercepted, and I went in her place. Why not?" Then suddenly her little teeth locked tightly, and she spoke between them savagely—"I'd be a teacher worth employing. I could talk Italian to her that she would never forget! Nor would she forgetme, either!"
Giovanni's teeth locked quite as tightly as hers. "Will you hush? You must be insane! I told you from the beginning that I would not advertise myself with you. I told you also that if you made a scene, or if you ever tried to interfere with my family or my private life, at that moment all would end between us." As he spoke, Favorita looked frightened, but in a flash her manner changed completely. Long association with him had not beenwithout its lessons, and she answered as sweetly as though no disagreement had ever come between them; as though there were no incongruity between their suspended discussion and her interrupting sentence. "Giovannino," she cooed, "I have had a great offer, an astounding offer from Vienna."
He saw his opportunity. His manner therefore, changed as rapidly as hers had done, and with every appearance of sympathy and interest he asked for her news. She told him with triumph the details of her offer from the manager of a Viennese theatre for a ten weeks' engagement at a stupendous salary.
"You must accept—by all means!" Not a trace of the relief he felt crept into his expression; he looked sad, but thoroughly resigned. "It is time," he added cleverly, "that you should make a name for yourself that is cosmopolitan and not alone of Italy."
So far they had been sitting on either side of a small table, but now Favorita arose and went around to him. Pushing the table away, she sat on his knee, and, with one arm about his neck, held up his chin with her other hand. Then, deliberately, she looked into his eyes with that level, determined steadiness which makes no compromise. She spoke very quietly, so quietly that he was more than ever uneasy. Her turbulence was annoying, but this calmness was ominous.
"I shall accept the offer on one condition:—you go to Vienna with me!"
Giovanni looked quite as though the gates of Paradise were opening before him. Even Favorita believed his enthusiasm genuine as he exclaimed, "Ah, that would be charming!" Then he seemed to be considering the matter eagerly. "That Iwantto go with you—of that there can be no doubt! I am merely wondering how it can be managed."
Now that she seemed to be getting her own way, and her jealousy was allayed, Favorita was soft, and sweet, and affectionate as a little black cat. "Rosso is going to Hungary," she purred. "You can easily say you are going with him on his trip, whereas you can really be in Vienna!"
"That sounds perfect!" he returned gayly; "at least you can accept the manager's offer!"
"Do you promise to go with me? You must swear it!" He hesitated as he rapidly turned the situation over in his mind. Now that he had determined to marry Nina, the main thing was to keep Favorita away, for, should she have an opportunity to unburden her heart to the heiress, that would be the end of his matrimonial chances. But if he could get the dancer to Vienna, and keep her there, then find an excuse for at least a short absence from her, he could come back to Rome, win Nina, be married at once—and then let come what would! An independent American girl would throw him over,he knew that; but a wife would be different! A wife would have to forgive.
"Will you promise?" repeated Favorita.
"Yes, I promise," he said. "Come, we will fill in the contract!"
Nina had intended taking her Italian teacher out with her in the automobile. She did this quite often, as it was as easy to practice Italian conversation in a motor-car as anywhere else. But after half an hour—Favorita was nearly that late—she had given up waiting and telephoned Zoya Olisco suggesting that they two spend the day at Tivoli. Zoya agreed, and Nina was on her way to fetch her when she passed Giovanni and Favorita. But she neither saw the former nor recognized the latter.
It was after six o'clock when Nina returned from Tivoli, and she had to hurry to dress for an early dinner, as it was the Sanseveros' regular Lenten evening at home.
Nina particularly liked these informal receptions, where the company was composed, for the most part, of really interesting, agreeable people. There was always music, generally by amateur performers; occasionally there was some other form of impromptu entertainment, an impersonation or a recitation. Throughout the evening there was the simplest sort of buffet supper: tea, bouillon—a claret cup, perhaps, and possibly chocolate, littlecakes, and sandwiches; never more. But the princess was one of those hostesses whose personality thoroughly pervades a house; a type which is becoming rare with every change in our modern civilization, and without which people might as well congregate in a hotel parlor. Each guest at the Palazzo Sansevero carried away the impression that not only had he been welcome himself, but that his presence had added materially to the enjoyment of others.
Early in the evening Nina was standing with Giovanni a little apart. Giovanni was unusually quiet, and both had fallen into reverie, from which Nina was aroused by the sudden announcement of a jarring name. Like the ceaseless beating of the waves upon a beach, she had heard the long rolling titles, "Sua Excellenza la principessa di Malio," "Il Conte e la Contessa Casabella," "Donna Francesca Dobini," "Sua Excellenza il Duca e la Duchessa Astarte," and then—"Messa Smeet!"
Nina felt a swift pity for the beautiful woman who was forced to suffer the ignominy of being thus announced. She had herself been daily conscious of that same flatness when, after the long announcement of her aunt's and uncle's names, came the blankness of "Messa Randolf."
And in that moment, divining the impression made upon her mind, Giovanni seized his opportunity. His eyes looked ardently into hers, his smile was transporting as, with all the warmth ofwhich his voice was capable, he said, "Donna Nina Sansevero, Marchesa di Valdo!"
Nina's heart fluttered strangely, her will was swayed by the moment's thrill, as she heard him continuing: "It can surely not surprise you to hear in spoken words what has long been in my heart to——" But his sentence was broken off abruptly, for a sudden thinning of the crush revealed the Contessa Potensi close beside them. Heedless of Nina, the contessa demanded that Giovanni take her into the supper room for a cup of tea, and Nina was left with Carpazzi, who had at that moment also joined them. He took no notice of her absent-mindedness and kept the conversation going briskly without much help from her, until gradually she became able to focus her attention upon him.
He talked of many things and finally of Cecelia Potenzi. That he should have spoken the name of the girl he loved was quite foreign to his, or in fact to any, Italian nature. But by now Nina had become thoroughly interested in what he was telling her and her sympathetic eyes had a way of urging confidences, and besides, as Carpazzi knew, she was very fond of Cecelia. He spoke quite frankly therefore of his hopes and plans. He was desperately interested in Derby's mining project because he owned a piece of property within a few miles of Vencata and if the Sansevero sulphur mines turned out well probably all the land in the neighborhood would also be leased by Derby's company,and it might be that he and Cecelia could be married.
Nina had already observed the young girl in question and she and Carpazzi made their way toward her. Gradually other young people joined them until a merry group was formed at that side of the room.
The music at that moment was by a young violinist, aprotégéof the Princess Sansevero's (a brother, by the way, of the peasant Marcella, whose marriage to Pedro the princess had arranged). The boy had real talent, and the princess had denied herself not a few things in order to help him complete his education.
At the close of his second selection the young violinist came over to her, with that look of devoted allegiance which cannot be imitated, and the princess held out her hand for him to kiss. "I am so pleased with your success," she said to him. "Come, I want to present you to the Duchessa Astarte, who was much delighted with your playing." Smiling, she led him away.
The young man traversed the rooms with perfect ease and unconsciousness—this peasant boy who four years previously had run ragged and barefooted, begging for soldos from the tourists who were driving out to Torre Sansevero! From one of the doorways Sansevero watched them. "Per Dio, she is wonderful, my Leonora!" he exclaimed to the Countess Masco, whom he had taken to thesupper room. "Look what she has made of that ragamuffin! You Americans are an extraordinary people." The countess, as she watched the prince's open admiration of his wife, showed the finest, the most generous side of her cheerful nature. Her expression was scarcely less admiring than his own.
"I'd like well enough to take all the credit for my country," she returned, with her usual good humor, "but in Eleanor's case it is the woman and not the nationality that is wonderful——" Then she added brusquely, "I'm glad you appreciate her." The next moment she tossed the topic aside and discoursed noisily of the latest Roman gossip.
About this time the Count and Countess Olisco were announced. Seeing Derby, who had arrived just ahead of them, Zoya walked up to him without hesitation or manœuvre. "I should like to talk to you," she said; "will you take me to a seat? There is one over there."
He gave her his arm and led her to a sofa at the far end of the room. "Have you been out to Torre Sansevero?" she asked when they had sat down.
"No. We had planned to motor out next week, but I must go to Sicily to-morrow, so the motor trip is postponed until I come back. You asked as though you had something special in mind. Had you?"
"Yes. I might as well tell you—though maybeyou know—there is a rumor that a Sansevero painting—the Raphael Madonna—has been sold out of the country. The way I know is secret; but through somebody connected with the Government I have learned that there are grave suspicions against the prince."
Derby gave her his full attention, but said nothing. "Everybody knows," continued the contessa, "that he has spent all his wife's money in gambling, and that they have sold everything that is not covered by the family entail." Her listener did not know it, but his face betrayed no surprise. "This picture, they say, has been smuggled out of the country to a rich American." Her face grew troubled and she spoke lower and more distinctly. "I do not find it possible to think that Sansevero did such a thing. He is weak, if you like; he would fall into temptation; he might gamble or make love to a pretty woman"—she shrugged her shoulders—"but that he would do anything really against the law, I don't believe. Yet—I have never seen such furs as the princess wears this winter. Can't you find out about the picture? Everybody believes it is in America. Think what it would be if Sansevero were put in prison! But I am sure you will set everything straight."
"Your faith in me is flattering, to say the least," he laughed. "But you seem to think that finding an object in America is as simple as though it were mislaid in a fishing village. Do you realize thevastness of the territory which I am to search in the twinkling of an eye?"
"No, no! You must not laugh. I am very serious. I know that America is a land in which everything may be accomplished, even though I may have a false idea of its size. And in you, as an American, my faith is unbounded. You see, I feel convinced that it all depends on you!" Then, under the impulsion of her enthusiasm she clapped her hands together as she exclaimed: "Oh, I am sure you will clear the prince! And then, like the hero in all good story books, win the reward."
"And the reward?" he queried. "What is it to be? Unfortunately, you are asking me to save a prince—a poor prince at that, with no favors to bestow. In the good story books it is always a beautiful princess. To be sure," he added, "the princess is as beautiful as one could wish, but alas! she is married."
"I do not find you at all amiable," the contessa pouted. "I am serious—very serious, and you make fun."
"Not at all. I am very serious, and you talk of fairy tales. Still, if you are my fairy godmother, there is no knowing what stroke of fortune may await me in Sicily." Then, changing his tone, he said earnestly: "I am really sorry, but I am afraid I shall have to leave the picture question until I come back."
"You are going straight off to Sicily?"
"Yes."
"To be gone how long?"
"I don't know; I have no idea. Weeks, perhaps. Months, very likely; why do you ask?"
"May I say something—something very frank to you?" Zoya leaned forward with a sudden direct impulse.
"Say what you please, by all means!" Derby braced himself for her remark, but even so he colored as she said: "Are you in love with Nina? Please, don't be angry; I don't ask you to answer. But if you are, I can't see why you go away to work mines and such things. I should have married her long ago had I been you."
Derby's eyes blazed. "Do you mean I should try to marry her and live on her money?"
"Why not? Since she has enough for two—enough for twenty! There is no need to be so furious.Per l'amore di Dio!You Americans have always the ears up, listening for a sound that you can fly at!" Languorously she leaned back among the cushions of the sofa. "It is all so silly—your idea of life." And then she stopped and looked at him curiously. "Whatisyour idea of life?"
"Life? One might put it in three words: One must work!"
Zoya shook her head—she did it charmingly. "No, no," she said softly; "you are altogether wrong—though I also can put it in three words.Life lies in this: One must love. That's all there is!"
The conversation ended there, for the Duke Scorpa and Count Masco came up to speak to the contessa. Derby arose and was about to leave when the duke stopped him. Masco sat down to talk with Zoya, and Scorpa spoke to Derby in an undertone. "I hear you are going to Sicily to-morrow?"
"Yes, I leave early in the morning."
"Take my advice"—his glance was sinister—"and stay away."
Derby smiled frankly. "May I ask why?"
"Because your process will not work."
"That might be taken in two ways," Derby rejoined: "either that you believe my patents useless, or else that some means will be taken to prevent my trying them. I rather wonder—after our conversation on the subject—if you intend a threat?" He spoke without stress of feeling, quite simply, in fact.
The duke's unctuous smile was not wholly pleasant to see. "That is for you to decide. To-morrow morning you intend to go. That is not far off; but you have until then to reconsider your refusal to sell me your patents. I made you a fair offer, which I should in your place accept. However, if you go to Sicily"—he spread out his hands with a shrug—"I shall have warned you, and whatever comes will be off my conscience."
For answer Derby spoke quietly, but with clear, level distinctness. "I go to-morrow to Vencata, to work a piece of land which is the property of the Prince and Princess Sansevero. As their representative, I am vested with every legal right to apply my invention to the mine known as the 'Little Devil.' And I may add"—he put it casually—"that back of me is the full strength and protection of the United States Government." He looked straight into the small rat-like eyes nearly a foot below his own. Then with a smile he bowed to the Contessa Zoya and went in search of the Princess Sansevero, to say good-by.
He found her in the adjoining room, absorbed in the music; and luckily there was an empty chair beside her, into which he quietly dropped. She smiled her welcome as he sat down beside her, but she had accepted her young countryman into too good a friendship to make either of them feel the need of rushing into speech. After a little she turned to him; even then her sentence seemed to complete a conversation interrupted rather than a new one begun, "Above all, do not forget to present Sandro's letter to the Archbishop! I know you will be drawn to him. His Eminence is one of those rare persons who have not waited to die to become angels." She smiled. "I am sure you will be safe under his protection."
"I wish you would tell me, Princess, why there is so much talk of protection—it sounds as thoughI were going to explore the interior of Africa! I shall be, at most, twenty-four hours away from Rome."
"There is no knowing what you are going to explore"—a shade of anxiety had come into her face. "The Mafia is there, the people are ignorant, and the lava wastes are as desolate and wild as any spot in Africa. I hope there will be no danger, but it is well to take precautions before going into such a country. You will promise me won't you?—to follow the directions of his Eminence." Unconsciously she put her hand against her heart.
Derby gave his promise easily, and she held out her hand. He kissed it after the European custom; and as he did so he felt her fingers tighten over his, as she whispered with a little underlying emotional vibration, "God bless you, my dear boy!—and a safe return."
Vaguely, as he went through the rooms in search of Nina, the princess's words echoed through his mind, and through some unknown train of suggestion he remembered that Miller, the butler in New York, had wished Nina a "safe return." The association of the two seemed ridiculous, yet a thought held: Was it at all certain that she was going to return home? Was he, perhaps, not going to return from Sicily? He put himself in the category of idiots and banished the idea. But the echo of the blessing that the princess had givenhim settled softly upon his sensibilities. "God blessher!" he said almost aloud.
Presently he found Nina, unapproachably hemmed in, and too near the music to talk. For a moment she hesitated, on the verge of extricating herself or encouraging him to enter the circle despite the general disturbance it must cause. But the moment passed. His lips framed "Good-by" and hers answered, both smiled brightly—and that was the parting.