"It's very good form here," she went on, dancing about her room. It was
hardly more than a marble gallery, the peristyle choked with flowering
bushes, camellias and althea and hibiscus, barely furnished, and filled
with drifting perfumes and the savor of the sea. "What a shame that
these things must be got at a price!"
Lavinia glanced at her sharply; until the present moment that would
have expressed her own attitude, but said by Gheta it seemed a little
crude. It was, anyhow, painfully obvious, and she had no intention of
showing Gheta the true state of her being.
"Isn't that so of everything--worth having?" she asked, adding the
latter purely as a counter.
The elder drew up her fine shoulders.
"That's very courageous of you," she admitted--"especially since
everybody knew your opinion of Orsi. Heaven knows you made no effort to
disguise your feeling to others."
Lavinia smiled calmly; Cesare was really very thoughtful, and she said
so. Gheta replied at a sudden tangent:
"Mochales has been a great nuisance."
Lavinia was gazing through an opening in the leaves at the sparkling
blue plane of the bay. She made no movement, aware of her sister's
unsparing curiosity turned upon her, and only said:
"Really?"
"Spaniards are so tempestuous," Gheta continued; "he's been whispering
a hundred mad schemes in my ear. He gave up an important engagement in
Madrid rather than leave Florence. I have been almost stirred by him,
he is so slender and handsome.
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