“Please pay the fine, whatever it is, and see that he is released.”
“Better she should keep out of it,” said Wilbraham grimly.
“But she wants the man’s address.”
“Don’t let her have it,” he said unadvisedly, and then flushed, suddenly aware that he had spoken too warmly. “The marchesa is young,” he said hurriedly, “and there are bad parts in Rome, where she really ought not to go.”
“No doubt,” returned Mrs Brodrick, smiling. “But I never interfere with Teresa’s liberty, and she would like the address.”
“Certainly,” said Wilbraham, stiffening. He knew that he had gone farther than his acquaintance justified, and no one hated a false position more than he. Sylvia came into the room at this awkward moment, looking so pretty that her little froth of chatter seemed only part of the prettiness, particularly when she greeted him warmly.
“Isn’t it tiresome for Teresa? But I told her I was sure you would manage everything perfectly. I don’t see that she need be so very unhappy, because if he was not a pickpocket he might have been one, of course; it was only a mistake, and you will set everything right, won’t you?”
“I’ll do my best,” he said gravely, but secretly pleased. Mrs Brodrick turned away her eyes, and knitted impassively. She was conscious of wrong feelings when her youngest grandchild chattered, and there were times when irritation got the upper hand, and she said something scathing, the only thing which Teresa ever resented. For Teresa upheld Sylvia through thick and thin, and would cheerfully efface herself for her sister.
Wilbraham walked towards the Trevi with his temper still ruffled, so that he scarcely glanced at the great fountain dashing its wealth of waters into the sea at its base. Passing it, he plunged into a network of narrow streets leading to the questura. He did not notice two or three men, who, standing at the door of the Avanti printing office, pointed him out to each other with scarcely perceptible gestures. Reaching his destination he found official feeling running high against Cesare, who, informed of the marchesa’s gracious intention, had returned passionately that he would not accept it, he preferred prison. Until the marchesa’s expected arrival he had been remanded in confinement, and the officer was urgent that he might be left there.
“He is dangerous,” he repeated more than once.