She ventured to more familiar ground.
"He is very handsome."
To her astonishment Ruth snorted. . . . Now Lucia always bridled consciously when one praised Paolo Tosti.
"Don't let him hear you say so," she scoffed. "He's too fat. He needs a lot more tennis."
And then to Maria's horror she raised her voice and confided this conviction to the approaching young men.
"You're getting fat, Bob. I just got your profile—and you need a lot of tennis for that tummy!"
And young Martin laughed—the indolent, submissive laughter with which he appeared to accept all things at the hands of this audacious, brown-cheeked, gray-eyed young girl.
She must be very sure of him, thought the little Italian sagely. Then, not so sagely, she wondered if Ruth was exhibiting her power to warn off all newcomers. . . . Was that why she refused to admit his wealth or his good looks—she wanted to invite no competition?
Maria Angelina believed she saw the light.
She would reassure Ruth, she thought eagerly. She was a young person of honor. Never would she attempt to divert a glance from her cousin's admirer.