“That's very courageous of you,” she admitted—“especially since everybody knew your opinion of Orsi. Heaven knows you made no effort to disguise your feeling to others.”
Lavinia smiled calmly; Cesare was really very thoughtful, and she said so. Gheta replied at a sudden tangent:
“Mochales has been a great nuisance.”
Lavinia was gazing through an opening in the leaves at the sparkling blue plane of the bay. She made no movement, aware of her sister's unsparing curiosity turned upon her, and only said:
“Really?”
“Spaniards are so tempestuous,” Gheta continued; “he's been whispering a hundred mad schemes in my ear. He gave up an important engagement in Madrid rather than leave Florence. I have been almost stirred by him, he is so slender and handsome.
“Simply every woman—except perhaps me—is in love with him.”
“There's no danger of your loving any one besides yourself.”
“I saw him the day before I left; told him where I was going. Then I had to beg him not to take the same train. He said he was going to Naples, anyhow, to sail from there for Spain. He will be at the Grand Hotel and I gave him permission to see me here once.”
Lavinia revolved slowly.