“He gave me some advice. He advised me against starting any arguments with you.”
Florence turned her eyes to him. They were burning and enigmatic.
“Curious,” he thought. “She’s like him. She hides something.”
He felt miserable again. But his hand caressed her arm.
“Arguments about what?” she asked quietly.
“Oh, this and that,” De Medici answered smiling. “Never mind asking me. Let’s save up all the arguments for another time, when we have nothing else to talk about.”
“What did he say?” she persisted. Then: “Excuse me. We’ll tell him and have him announce the engagement. He’ll love that.”
Her face was again gay and dominant. De Medici nodded.
“I’ll telephone him,” he said quickly, and tapped on the driver’s window. The cab stopped. Leaning out of the door, De Medici gave a vague direction.
“Take us to a telephone,” he said. The driver nodded as if he appreciated the details of the situation. They started again.