“Ah, that is Cesare, eh? That is what he says.”
“Yes,” acknowledged the other, glancing at her. “That is what Cesare says. And he is very clever. All the world knows that he is very clever?”
“Perhaps,” returned Nina, shutting her mouth obstinately. “But, see here, how much good has he done himself with his cleverness?”
“Because he is always thinking of others. You do not understand—no one understands!” cried the girl passionately. She sprang up and stood leaning against the table, her breast heaving, her splendid eyes on fire. “He is not working for himself, he is not working for you or for me, or for this one or for that—it is for the whole world. When he comes and talks to me of his thoughts, his plans, he seems,”—she flung out her hands—“to set the whole of me in a blaze.”
“Eh-h-h-h-h!” Nina’s shrewd little eyes narrowed. “The whole world. And you like that?”
“Who would not?”
“Not I.”
“You! You!”
Peppina’s look rested on her with a touch of contempt, but Nina’s gay laugh bubbled on.
“If I were you I should not care to share all these good things which Cesare is going to get, with—Elena Cianchetti, for instance.”