“Cashmere.”
“It is so becoming to you. Why don’t you always wear it?”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, I do.” He continued, unconsciously, to stroke her arm.
She leant over, quite close to him, and said:
“Have one made like it for Caterina.”
This time Andrea did not rise, but shuddered perceptibly. He passed his hand through his hair, to push it back.
“I was thinking just now,” he said, “that the man who fell in love with you would be a most unhappy fellow.”
Lucia sank back in frigid silence, her face hardened with anger.
“Now,” he said in a low tone of deprecation, “you are angry.”