In his subdued voice there was more than tenderness, there was ardour, an ardour violent and repressed, as he squeezed the little, imprisoned hand.
"I will keep it," she said, with a trembling of her lips that were speaking, and a trembling of her little hand between those of Lucio Sabini.
Someone was coming from the ballroom and from the hall. He let the little hand fall. Regaining her composure she said:
"Won't you come with me to the ballroom?"
"Later on, Miss Temple," replied Lucio, still a little disturbed.
"Oh, no, at once!" exclaimed Miss Temple gracefully. "It is a beautiful ball, and full of such pretty girls, Signor Sabini."
"All English, I imagine. Then they must be very pretty."
"There are many Americans; but they are very beautiful too. Oh, I like all this so much," she said, with ingenuous enthusiasm.
"So you like a ball, Miss Temple?"