"I have been blind," he asseverated, vivaciously gesticulating with his
thick hands.
Lavinia studied him with a remote young brutality, from his fluffy
disarranged hair, adhering to his wet brow, to his extravagantly
pointed shoes. The ridiculous coral charm hanging from his heavy watch
chain, a violent green handkerchief, an insufferable cameo pin--all
contributed pleasurably to the lowering of her opinion of him.
"I must find Gheta," she pronounced, suddenly aware of her isolation
with Cesare Orsi in the crowd, and of curious glances. Orsi immediately
took her arm, but she eluded him. "Go first, please; we can get through
sooner that way."
They progressed from room to room, thoroughly exploring the dense
throng about the auctioneer, but without finding either Gheta, Anna
Mantegazza or the bull-fighter.
"I can't think how she could have forgotten me!" Lavinia declared with
increasing annoyance. "It's clear that they have all gone."
"Don't agitate yourself," Cesare Orsi begged. "Sanviano will be
absolutely contented to have you in my care. I am delighted. You shall
go home directly in my carriage." He conducted her, with a show of form
that in any one else or at another time she would have enjoyed hugely,
to the street, where he handed her into an immaculately glossy and
corded victoria, drawn by a big stamping bay, and stood with his hat
off until she had rolled away.
It was comfortable in the luxuriously upholstered seat and, in spite of
herself, Lavinia sank back with a contented sigh.
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