“So my uncle says; but we shall see,” laughed Maddelena, setting the tray on a low, carved stand, and giving Austin her hand, and continuing more seriously: “I am so glad you have come to-night, Mr. Starr, for I have heard so much of you, and there are, oh, so many things I want to ask you about. You are a great friend of that poor Mr. Carling and his bride, are you not? The poor young lovers, how my heart is grieved for them! But we must have our coffee first and then we will talk.”
There was something so frank and charming in her manner, so like her uncle’s, in its easy, gracious simplicity, that again Austin marvelled, remembering her in that unguarded moment the other day. Was she merely a creature of passionate impulse or a consummate actress?
“I am very much the maid-of-all-work these days,” she explained, seating herself between them on a big “humpty.” “For Giulia—you know her?”
“Your old servant, yes, I have seen her.”
“She is still in such a state of nerves that she is no use at all. It is very foolish of her.”
“Have patience, carissima; she will get over it in time. We all shall,” said Cacciola soothingly.
“I suppose Mrs. Giulia was very fond of Lady Rawson?” hazarded Austin.
Maddelena turned towards him, raising her dark brows.
“Fond of her? No, indeed. Why should she be?”