"You are delicious, my dear Gouache. Good-bye."
Madame d'Aragona went out with Orsino, and they descended the broad staircase together. Orsino was not sure whether he might not be showing too much anxiety to remain in the company of his new acquaintance, and as he realised how unpleasant it would be to sacrifice the walk with her, he endeavoured to excuse to himself his derogation from his self-imposed character of cool superiority and indifference. She was very amusing, he said to himself, and he had nothing in the world to do. He never had anything to do, since his education had been completed. Why should he not walk with Madame d'Aragona and talk to her? It would be better than hanging about the club or reading a novel at home. The hounds did not meet on that day, or he would not have been at Gouache's at all. But they were to meet to-morrow, and he would therefore not see Madame d'Aragona.
"Gouache is an old friend of yours, I suppose," observed the lady.
"He was a friend of my father's. He is almost a Roman. He married a distant connection of mine, Donna Faustina Montevarchi."
"Ah yes—I have heard. He is a man of immense genius."
"He is a man I envy with all my heart," said Orsino.
"You envy Gouache? I should not have thought—"
"No? Ah, Madame, to me a man who has a career, a profession, an interest, is a god."
"I like that," answered Madame d'Aragona. "But it seems to me you have your choice. You have the world before you. Write your name upon it. You do not lack enthusiasm. Is it the inspiration that you need?"
"Perhaps," said Orsino glancing meaningly at her as she looked at him.