“No, I shall not come up with you,” protested Jacobelli. “Do not tempt me, signora. I shall overeat if you set before me one of those delightful suppers of yours, and, besides, the child must rest. We may get a hearing to-morrow and she needs all her strength. Sleep well, Carlota. Remember, smother the emotion that cripples your work.”
She did not speak until they reached their apartment, and Maria laid her hands on her shoulders to look closely into her eyes under the shaded lights.
“Ah, my dear one, they have hurt you to-night,” she sighed. “You are not ready yet, not old enough to manage these men. Some day it will be as nothing to you, their whims and notions, their mad passions and threats. A man in love is the most helpless, pitiful thing in all the world, never, never dangerous. You have him at your mercy. What did he say to you?”
Carlota slipped out of her velvet cloak tiredly.
“I hardly know. It was so sudden and horrible, the touch of his hands on my flesh, and his face close to mine. He was a dog to take advantage of my being there as his guest—”
“Oh, hush! What did he say to you?” urged Maria shrewdly.
“Nothing at all. He asked me to sing, and when I had finished he seized me in his arms and tried to kiss me.”
“I should not have left you alone. Opportunity makes the thief. It is Jacobelli’s fault. He must have known that Ward desired a chance of speaking to you. But it is all nothing, cara mia, nothing at all. It was certain he would fall in love with you. No man could help it, but he must be taught some gems are priceless. He did not ask you any questions, then, about yourself, about the Paoli collection or the jewels you wore?”
Carlota looked at her wonderingly.
“Of course not. Why should he?”