“Mind! I should say not. Where are you staying?”
“At the Albergo Europa. I was just on my way over to the Pellegrino e Gaiana to inquire if you were there. I’ve asked at all the other hotels.”
While we had been speaking I had been watching her closely. What was it that was changed in her? Was it the voluptuousness of the Italian night that made her more splendidly feminine? She had lost her laughing tone of laziness. Her beauty was strong wine and fire. Something had become earnest in her. Then I asked myself why had she come—was she really on her way to Venice?
“I’m jolly glad you came,” I said impetuously; “I’ve been missing you ever since I left.”
“And I you.”
She took my arm, giving it a friendly hug, just as Ruthita did when she was glad. We walked over to the Piazza Torquato Tasso. Seating ourselves at a table beneath the trees, we called for wine. The light from the trattoria fell softly on her face. The air was dreamy with fragrance of limes. At tables nearby other men and women were sitting. Across the way in the tavern my men-at-arms were still singing and carousing.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, leaning across towards me.
“I was thinking that I now begin to understand you.”
“In what way?” She jerked the question out. It was as though she had flung up her arms to ward off a blow. Her voice panted.
“You’ve always puzzled me,” I said. “You are a mixture of ice and fire. The ice is English and the fire is Italian. You’re different to-night.”