"I won't, because I don't want to. I am nobody's toady, and it's time you gave up the office yourself! Is there any more necessity for it? If it's true our affairs are so prosperous," she went on, with open sarcasm, "then why——"
"There's no good discussing it with you," he interrupted, firing up. "You're always unreasonable!"
He set out at noon. In the afternoon Regina went for one of her rare visits to her mother-in-law. She stayed for dinner, and once more made part of the picture she had so detested, but now she had very different feelings from those of old. Thinking it over, she asked herself why that picture had appeared to her so vulgar. Merely as types of character the personages were interesting, or at least seemed so now.
Arduina and Massimo discussed celebrated authors—she with real animus, he with contempt for her. Gaspare told the conjugal misfortunes of one of his colleagues. Signor Mario picked his teeth, and Signora Anna lamented the terrible conduct of her servant. It was amusing—for once in a way. The dinner was good; they drank and laughed. Claretta admired herself in the glass, flirted with Massimo and even with Gaspare.
In fact, nothing in the environment had changed; yet Regina was no longer disgusted. Claretta was less elegant than herself, and Signora Anna took quite maternal satisfaction in pointing this out. She asked her niece why she didn't do her hair like Regina's.
"This suits me better," drawled the young lady, putting her hand to her head and settling the lace butterfly which decked her locks; "besides, it's the fashion."
"Excuse me," said Massimo, "the women of the aristocracy do their hair like Regina."
"Madame Makuline, perhaps?" said Claretta, ironically.
Regina glanced at her. Did she mean anything, the pretty cousin? Did she know anything?