Anna smiled faintly in disdain. Again the beauty of the day was extinguished for her; the warm April afternoon was like a dark winter's evening.
The rose that Laura had given her had fallen to pieces, shedding its petals on the carriage floor. Anna would have liked to gather them all up and preserve them. The most she could do, however, was to take a single one that lay in her lap, and put it into the opening of her glove, against the palm of her hand.
At the entrance of the racing-grounds they met the Contessa d'Alemagna again. She smiled graciously upon Anna and Laura. Anna tried to smile in return; Laura bowed coldly.
"Don't you like the Contessa d'Alemagna?" asked Cesare, as he conducted his wife and sister-in-law to their places in the members' stand.
"No," said Laura.
"You're wrong," said he.
"That may be. But she's antipathetic to me."
"I like her," said Anna, feebly.
Cesare found places for them, and gave them each an opera-glass. Then he stood up and said to Anna:
"You will be all right here?"