“I will read it later.”
He leant back in his chair, breathing slowly and contentedly, with his necktie unfastened and his hands resting on the tablecloth, while he watched her making the coffee—to which she gave all her attention, intent on listening for the hiss of the machine. A calm lithe figure that neither fidgeted nor moved too often, absorbed by her occupation, she bent her whole mind to it.
“It’s ready,” she said, after a time.
“Let’s discuss it in the drawing-room,” he replied. “As a reward I will let you read my rival’s letter.”
A bright wood fire burned on the drawing-room hearth. With another sigh of satisfaction, Andrea sank into a broad, low, leathern armchair that was drawn up before it.
“If it were not for the shooting, I should get too fat. Now don’t begin to sew again, Caterina; sit down here and talk to me. Did you use to dance when you were at school?”
“The dancing-master came twice a week.”
“Did you like dancing?”
“Pretty well; do you?”
“Now, when we are at Naples we can dance as much as we like. We’ve got three invitations already.”