“La Signorina has no lack of passion when it suits her turn,” said Vasari, with a sneer. “Yes, I will go—but, as to coming again, that is another matter.”
Then Signor Mattei broke out into a perfect storm of invective and adjuration, calling the Saints to witness his own honest dealing, and speaking of and to Violante in terms of such anger and contempt as were hardly calculated to excuse her to her lover. Violante shook like a leaf, but made no attempt at an answer, and Rosa at last pulled her away from the room, leaving her father still in the full flow of his eloquence and Signor Vasari stiff and upright with offended dignity, yet casting involuntary and half-unconscious glances at his scattered pearls.
Hugh Crichton, on the other hand, had suffered since his interview with Signor Mattei, from a kind of doubt, not unnatural to a man treading on unknown ground. He would have had far more confidence in Violante had she been the Miss Katie Clinton whose cause his mother advocated, little as he would have believed anyone who had echoed the sentiment; and when Mr Tollemache came in before dinner and said that all the world was talking of Mademoiselle Mattei’s great good luck in her encasement to Signor Vasari, Hugh turned visibly pale, and James said:
“Is it a fact or a rumour, Mr Tollemache?”
“A fact, I believe. I had it from young Contarini, who haunts the musical world; and he said Vasari had told him of it himself.” Neither looked at Hugh, who sat still for a moment and then got up and went away. James could not help a look of consternation, and Mr Tollemache said:
“I assure you, Crichton, I had no notion anything serious was going on. Hugh’s the last fellow I should have suspected of—of—”
“Making such a fool of himself?” said James. “Well—you see he never could take things in moderation.”
“He’s well out of the scrape, in my opinion.”
“Yes, poor old boy, I suppose he is. The rest of us are, at any rate.”
Dinner passed, of course, with no reference to the subject; nor did Hugh mention it till the next morning, when, alone with Jem, he said, with a nervous laugh but an odd twitch in his voice: