Innocently, or sarcastically (Regina had not yet made out if Gabrie were innocent or malicious), she said—
"I've been sending her picture cards of the fox hunt, the meet, the motors, the smart people. That young woman has no ideas beyond all that." (She said that young woman in accents of profound contempt.)
"Nor have many others," muttered Antonio.
He was stepping a little in advance of the ladies, and seemed lost in thought, very erect and fashionable, however, in his dark, smooth overcoat.
"Do you mean that for me?" said Gabrie, after a pause. Then, without waiting for a reply, almost as if penitent, she added, "Dear me, Signor Antonio, aren't you crushed by that coat? The history professor has one like it, and the girls say whenever he goes out he has to come home and lie down—he's so worn out by it."
"Indeed!" said Antonio, absently.
They arrived at the Villa. The night was warm and still; the blue splendour of the moon eclipsed the lamps. The street was empty. Regina remembered the first night she had come to this house, and she sighed and smiled. She did not know why she sighed nor why she smiled, but she rapidly recalled how unhappy she had been then, while now she was so extremely happy, with a husband who loved her so much and worked for her so hard, with her pretty baby, her home, her heart-felt peace and assured prosperity; and yet——And yet? Oh, nothing! A mere cloud, the shadow of a cloud, passing over the depths of her soul!
The great doors opened. The servant did not smile, but his pale, impassive face lighted up amiably at sight of the new-comers.
"Are there many people?" asked Antonio, as the servant took Regina's cloak.
"A few," replied the big youth, in a bass voice.