It had been arranged that Señor Luazo and his nephew should dine that evening at Venta Villa, and Galva looked forward with no little trepidation to re-encountering the amorous lieutenant.
As she entered the drawing-room where Edward and Anna awaited the coming of their guests, the long mirror facing the door and between the two French windows showed her a picture of a radiant girl in a simple robe of a soft clinging blue material and with dark hair coiled turban-wise around a shapely head.
Edward looked up as she entered and smiled his admiration. He was fast growing accustomed to his changed mode of life, and he was beginning to take as a matter of course things which a few months ago he scarcely knew existed.
It was very pleasant to be standing there on the white bearskin rug in front of the fire waiting to extend the hand of welcome to Señor Luazo and Lieutenant Mozara. He smiled to himself grimly as he thought what either of these distinguished personages would think if they could look back a while and see a bowed little figure shuffling across London Bridge.
Seated in a low wicker chair Anna Paluda was watching with folded hands the flickering of the firelight on the Dutch tiles of the hearth. She looked very dignified in her black silk dress—Anna never wore colours—relieved by a touch of Honiton lace at throat and wrists.
The room was small, cosily so. The carpets and curtains were of a rich terra-cotta and the furniture was brocaded in a dull yellow. Delicate china showed richly in the shadowy recesses of a cabinet, and the little cluster of electric bulbs shaded in yellow silk gave a soft light. The two long windows, reaching to the floor, looked like panels of blue-black velvet in which the lights of the yachts anchored in the bay gleamed like diamonds. One could catch a glimpse also of a balcony on which were pots of shrubs and little green painted tables.
Galva was relieved to find that Mozara greeted her as usual. In fact, he was so attentive to her during dinner that she found herself wondering if she had not taken his remarks of the morning too seriously, and whether he had not been in fun half the time.
The dinner, well served and admirably cooked, was a success, and it was about ten o'clock when Mozara made an excuse to leave them, pleading another appointment. Galva had hoped that he wished the episode of the morning to be forgotten, but as she stood by the drawing-room door bidding him "good-night" he touched on the subject.
"Did you find the shop you wanted, Miss Baxendale?"
She felt the colour come to her cheeks, but the soldier was waiting for an answer.