"O'Mally is right," he said. "We need no guaranty."
She put the ring away. It was her mother's. She never would smile in secret at these men again. They might be vain and artificial and always theatrical, but there was nevertheless a warm and generous heart beneath.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "If I lose your money we will all go to Florence. I have another plan, but that will keep till this one under hand proves a failure. None of you shall regret your confidence in me."
"Pshaw!" said O'Mally.
"Nonsense!" said Smith.
And Worth smiled reassuringly.
O'Mally beckoned to a waiter. "Oony bottle vino dee Asti, caldo, frappé!" he said loudly, so that all might hear him give the order. A month in Venice, and he would be able to talk like a native. True, if any Italian spoke to him, he was obliged to shake his head; but that was a trifling matter.
"Tom!" warned Smith.
"You let me alone," replied O'Mally. "A quart of Asti won't hurt anybody."
So the thin sweet wine of Asti was served, and La Signorina toasted them all gratefully.