"Did you like him?" enquired Cecilia, evasively.
"He is not very good-looking," observed the Countess, whose judgment of unknown people always began with their appearance, and often penetrated no farther. "But he may be intelligent, for all that," she added, as a concession.
"Yes," said Cecilia, thoughtfully, "perhaps."
"I think we might ask him to dinner, then," answered the Countess, as if she had given an excellent reason for doing so.
"Is it not rather early, considering that we have only met him once?" Cecilia ventured to ask.
"I used to know his mother very well, though she was older than I. It is pleasant to find that he is so intimate with Signor d'Este. We might ask them together."
"After the garden party," suggested Cecilia. "Of course, as you and the Marchesa were great friends, that is a reason for asking the other, but Signor d'Este—really! It would positively be throwing me at his head, mother!"
"He expects it, my dear," answered the Countess, with more precision than tact. "I mean," she added hastily, "I mean, that is, I did not mean—"
Cecilia laughed.
"Oh yes, you did, mother! You meant exactly that, you know. You and that dreadful old Princess have made up your minds that I am to marry him, and nothing else matters, does it?"