“Your Uncle Angelo is seeing off his Dutch friend,” went on the Countess, coming up close to her bed. She hesitated a moment. “He is—what do you call it in England?—yes, a rough diamond. So we were glad that neither you nor Beppo were here—Beppo is so very particular. Do not mention to my son that we had a visitor to-night.”
Lily took the glass from the Countess’s hand and began sipping. Yes, it was certainly very nice; rather too sweet for English taste—like jam dissolved in icy cold water. She drank it all up, however.
“Sleep well, dear. We shall have Beppo out here early, full of apologies. Do not spoil those pretty eyes by reading in bed.”
As she uttered the word “bed” there came from outside the house, on the very steep and rough road which led to the real door of the villa, the loud snort of a motor-car drawing up. Then the bell rang violently.
The Countess was so startled that she dropped the empty glass she was holding in her hand, and it fell, shivered in a dozen pieces.
She walked over to the bedroom door and opened it, and at once Beppo’s rather high voice sounded up the staircase. He was evidently telling his father what had happened to their party.
“It is only Beppo!” But the Countess still seemed extraordinarily disturbed. “I will go down and tell him that you are fast asleep, and that he must not make such a noise. I do hope he has not brought any strangers into the house! We are not prepared for visitors.”
She shut the bedroom door, and a few minutes later the girl, who had turned very sleepy, heard the car starting again.
When Lily awoke the next morning the strong morning light was filtering through the chinks in her dark curtains. She did not feel refreshed, for she had a bad headache. Perhaps the food at the Hotel Hidalgo had been too rich, and yet the other day she had felt all the better for a much more elaborate meal.