Her shoulders and arms
she surveyed with frank healthy approbation. Now her hair annoyed her,
swinging childishly about her waist, and she secured it in an
instinctively effective coil on the top of her head. She decided to
leave it there for dinner. Her mother was away for the night; and she
knew that Gheta's sarcasm would only stir their father to a teasing
mirth.
Later, Gheta departed for a ball, together with the Marchese Sanviano--
to be dropped at his club--and Lavinia was left alone. The scene in the
court was repeated, but with less flourish than earlier in the evening.
Gheta would be nominally in the charge of Anna Mantegazza; but Lavinia
knew how laxly the American would hold her responsibility. She wished,
moving disconsolately under high painted ceilings through the semi-
gloom of still formal chambers, that she was a recognized beauty--free,
like Gheta.
The drawing-room, from which they had watched the afternoon procession,
was in complete darkness, save for the luminous rectangle of the window
they had occupied. Its drapery was still disarranged. Lavinia crossed
the room and stood at the grille. The lights strung along the river,
curving away like uniform pale bubbles, cast a thin illumination over
the Lungarno, through which a solitary vehicle moved. Lavinia idly
watched it approach, but her interest increased as it halted directly
opposite where she stood. A man got quickly out--a lithe figure with a
broad-brimmed hat slanted across his eyes.
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