At every step, at every turn, Margaret realised how much she had been mistaken in thinking that anything in Logotheti's house could be in bad taste. There was perfect harmony everywhere, and a great deal of simplicity. The man alone offended her eye a little, the man himself, with his resplendent tie, his jewellery and his patent leather shoes; and even so, it was only the outward man, in so far as she could not help seeing him and contrasting his appearance with his surroundings. For he was as tactful and quiet, and as modest about himself as ever; he did not exhibit the conquering air which many men would have found it impossible not to assume under the circumstances; he showed himself just as anxious to please little Madame De Rosa as Margaret herself, and talked to both indiscriminately. If Margaret at first felt that she was doing something a little eccentric, not to say compromising, in accepting the invitation, the sensation had completely worn off before luncheon was half over, and she was as much at her ease as she could have been in Mrs. Rushmore's own house. She felt as if she had known Logotheti all her life, as if she understood him thoroughly and was not displeased that he should understand her.
They went into the next room for coffee.
'You used to like my Zara maraschino,' said Logotheti to Madame De Rosa.
He took a decanter from a large case, filled a good-sized liqueur glass for her and set it beside her cup.
'It is the most delicious thing in the world,' cried the little woman, sipping it eagerly.
'May I not have some, too?' asked Margaret.
'Not on any account,' answered Logotheti, putting the decanter back on the other side. 'It's very bad for the voice, you know.'
'I never heard that,' said Madame De Rosa, laughing. 'I adore it! But as my singing days are over it does not matter at all. Oh, how good it is!'
She sipped it again and again, with all sorts of little cries and sighs of satisfaction.
Logotheti and Margaret looked on, smiling at her childish delight.