He held the exquisitely formed metal toward Minardi. John Dorning's eyes made a hasty appraisal of it. He half opened his lips to protest against this careless disposal of the little silver masterpiece. But Minardi, hardly looking at it, snarled, "No. I want money."
Dorning said at once to Rodrigo, "Give him money then. I will buy the vase. I'll give you twice what he wants—ten thousand liras—and make a handsome profit if I ever want to dispose of it." He took out his purse.
Rodrigo regarded his guest with puzzled surprise. "I don't want you to do this for me, Dorning. I——"
"Please believe me, it is merely a matter of business," Dorning cut in quietly. "I am in Italy for the purpose of picking up just such bargains." He counted out the money and offered it to Rodrigo. The young Italian hesitated an instant, then took the proffered notes, counted them and started to hand half to Minardi.
"You want something for your money, don't you?" Dorning interjected. "Your letters?"
"Naturally," replied Rodrigo, flushing a little. He was not used to being prompted. As he took the packet of note-paper from Minardi's greasy hands he now made an over-elaborate show of checking them up. "They are all here," he decided, speaking curtly and more to Dorning than to Rosa's papa. To the latter he continued even more curtly, "Now get out. If I see you about here again I will turn you over to the police."
Minardi bowed impudently. He made a move to seize the silent Rosa's hand, but she eluded him. Suddenly she opened shrill soprano abuse of her father. "I hope you're satisfied now!" she cried. "You have humiliated me, your daughter. You've sold my honest love for money, made me appear a low, scheming woman. I hate you." With a swift movement she slipped over to Rodrigo, who stood with arms folded, regarding her with a wry smile.
"Please tell me you do not think I plotted this with him," she pleaded, her dark, warm face quite near to his. "It is not for money I love you. I did not come to the café last night, because I was angry with you for telling me I am bad tempered. I cried all last night over that, Rodrigo. But I am not angry at you now. I am angry only at Papa." Her soft arms attempted to steal around Rodrigo's neck. "Tell me that you still love me," she begged in a low, husky voice.
Still he stood rigid. He shot an apologetic smile at Dorning. Even now he felt the attraction of this creature of primitive emotions, though he suspected she was acting.
"But you are bad tempered, Rosa," he jibed, disengaging her arms. "And I think you are somewhat of a liar besides."