CHAPTER XVII. THE BALCONY AT IMANO'S
At six o'clock that evening, Tavernake rang up the Milan Court and inquired for Elizabeth. There was a moment or two's delay and then he heard her reply. Even over the telephone wires, even though he stood, cramped and uncomfortable, in that stuffy little telephone booth, he felt the quick start of pleasure, the thrill of something different in life, which came to him always at the sound of her voice, at the slightest suggestion of her presence.
“Well, my friend, what fortune?” she asked him.
“None,” he answered. “I have done my best. Beatrice will not listen to me.”
“She will not come and see me?”
“She will not.”
Elizabeth was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, there was a change in her tone.
“You have failed, then.”
“I did everything that could be done,” Tavernake insisted eagerly. “I am quite sure that nothing anybody could say would move Beatrice. She is very decided indeed.”