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Gheta, she knew, had brought a new lavender lawn with little gold velvet buttons and lace; while she had nothing but the familiar coarse white mull. But she had fresh ribbons and she gazed with satisfaction at her firm, faintly rosy countenance. She would have no wrinkles for years to come.
"I knew nothing myself until a little bit ago," Lavinia explained apologetically, filled with a formless pity for Gheta. "Isn't it pretty? Anna Mantegazza gave it to me." She could see, over Gheta's shoulder, Cesare Orsi staring at her in idiotic surprise. "Don't you like it, Gheta?" Anna asked.
Mochales stood very close to her sister, speaking seriously, while Gheta nervously fingered the short veil hanging from her gay straw hat. A familiar kindly voice sounded suddenly in Lavinia's ears, and Cesare Orsi joined her. He was about to move forward toward Gheta; but, before he could attract her attention, she disappeared in the crowd with the Spaniard. "Who was it?" he inquired.
It appears that Gheta is going to marry him, and he already objects to presents from her brother-in-law." "But what stuff!" Lavinia pronounced. A swift surprise overtook her at Cesare's announcement Gheta and Mochales to marry! She was certain that the arrangement had not existed that morning. A fleet inchoate sorrow numbed her heart and fled.
They were at breakfast, on the wine-red tiling of a pergola by the water, and he had shaken his fist, with a rueful curse, in the direction of Naples. Before him lay an open letter with an engraved page heading. "I said," Lavinia repeated impatiently, "that Gheta will probably be here the last of the week." "The sacred camels!" Orsi exclaimed; then: "Oh, Gheta good!"
And to-day I saw this," he held out the package; "it was pretty and I bought it for her at once. But now, when the moment arrives, I hesitate to give it to her. Gheta has grown so so formal that I'm afraid of her," he laughed. Lavinia unwrapped the paper covering from a green morocco box and, releasing the catch, saw a shimmering string of delicately pink pearls. "Cesare!" she exclaimed.
It seems that I have been annoying Gheta by my attentions, flattering her with pearls." "Did Gheta tell you that?" Lavinia demanded. A growing resentment took possession of her. "Because if she did, she lied!" "Ah!" Mochales whispered sharply. "They're both mad," Orsi told her, "and should be dipped in the bay." Never had Abrego y Mochales appeared handsomer; never more like fine bronze.
He loomed at the back of her thoughts, inscrutably dark and romantic. It piqued her that he had not made the slightest response to her palpable admiration. But he had been tremendously stirred by Gheta, who was never touched by such emotions. A desire to see Mochales grew insidiously out of her speculations; a desire to talk about him, hear his name.
But, she reassured herself, there was little danger of that Gheta would never make a sacrifice for emotion; she would be sure of the comfortable material thing, and now more than ever. Anna Mantegazza moved to a piano, which, in the obscurity, she began to play. The notes rose deliberate and melodious. Gheta Sanviano told Orsi: "That's Iris.
He agreed eagerly; and Lavinia wondered whether she had been clumsy. She simply couldn't imagine marrying Cesare Orsi, but she knew that such a match for Gheta was freely discussed, and she hoped that her sister would not make difficulties.
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