She wondered whether
her father would buy her a dress by Verlat.
"Honestly," Orsi murmured, "more beautiful than your--"
She stopped him with an impatient gesture, wondering what Mochales was
saying to Gheta. A possibility suddenly filled her with dread--it was
evident that the Spaniard was growing hourly more absorbed in Gheta,
and the latter might----Lavinia could not support the possibility of
Abrego y Mochales married to her sister. 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. Do you remember, we heard it at the Pergola in the
winter?"
"Do go over to her," Lavinia whispered.
He rose heavily and went to Gheta's side, and Lavinia waited
expectantly for Mochales to change too. The Spaniard shifted, but it
was toward the piano, where he stood with the rosy reflection of his
cigarette on a moody countenance. It was Pier Mantegazza who sat beside
her, with a quizzical expression on his long gray visage. He said
something to her in Latin, which she only partly understood, but which
alluded to the changing of water into wine.
"I am a subject of jest," he continued in Italian, "because I prefer
water."
She smiled with polite vacuity, wondering what he meant.
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