"She is so sweet—your mother," said Sophy, looking down at the warm folds. "It was dear of her to think of lending me this cloak. I almost envy you your mother."
"And—yours?" asked Amaldi softly.
"She died when I was a young girl."
"That is very sad," said Amaldi, but the tone of his voice was better than the most florid words of sympathy.
All at once Sophy started. She had given him back the steering-wheel some time ago. She clasped her hands under the folds of the grey cloak.
"Marchese! Your dinner! How will you get your dinner!" she cried regretfully. "I am so selfish—I had forgotten all about your dinner! There will be nothing—nothing at all for you to eat at—at my villa. I told Luigi not to order dinner—just to have some milk and bread and fruit for me."
Amaldi reassured her, smiling.
"There are dozens of places where I can dine capitally," he said. "The 'Isola Pescatori'—just ahead of us to the left there—that is a delightful place to dine. You must go there with us—Baldi and me—some time—— That is, if you'd care to——"
"Oh, I should—of course. But I can't think of anything now but that you'll be hours late for your dinner. It's so far yet to Ghiffa."
"We shall be there in half an hour—easily," he consoled her. He glanced at his watch. "It's not yet half-past seven."