He could be cruel, she
decided, and shivered a little vicariously. She half heard Bembo's
rapid high-pitched excitement over trifles.
"You are going to the Guarinis' sale to-morrow afternoon? But, of
course, every one is. Well, if I come across Abrego y Mochales before
then, and I'm almost certain to, and he'll come, I'll bring him. He's
as proud as the devil--duchesses, you see--so no airs with him. The
Flower of Spain. A king of sport sits high at the table--" He went on,
apparently interminable; but Lavinia turned away to where tea was being
laid in a far angle.
Others approached over the tiled hall and the Marchese Sanviano entered
with Cesare Orsi. The window was deserted, and the women trailed
gracefully toward the bubbling minor note of the alcohol lamp. Both
Sanviano and Orsi were big men--the former, like Bembo, wore English
clothes; but Orsi's ungainly body had been tightly garbed by a Southern
military tailor, making him--Lavinia thought--appear absolutely
ridiculous. His collar was both too tight and too high, although
perspiration promised relief from the latter.
A general and unremarkable conversation mingled with the faint rattle
of passing cups and low directions to a servant. Lavinia was seated
next to Cesare Orsi, but she was entirely oblivious of his heavy kindly
face and almost anxiously benevolent gaze. He spoke to her, and because
she had comprehended nothing of his speech she smiled at him with an
absent and illuminating charm.
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