But Manisty peremptorily shook him off. Eleanor, the American Monsignore, and Reggie Brooklyn were strolling near. He retreated upon them. Eleanor addressed some question to him, but he scarcely answered her. He seemed to be in a brown study, and walked on beside her in silence.
Reggie fell back a few paces, and watched them.
'What a bear he can be when he chooses!' the boy said to himself indignantly. 'And how depressed Eleanor looks! Some fresh worry I suppose—and all his fault. Now look at that!'
For another group—Lucy, her new acquaintance the Count, and Madame Variani—had crossed the path of the first. And Manisty had left Eleanor's side to approach Miss Foster. All trace of abstraction was gone. He looked ill at ease, and yet excited; his eyes were fixed upon the girl. He stooped towards her, speaking in a low voice.
'There's something up'—thought Brooklyn. 'And if that girl's any hand in it she ought to be cut! I thought she was a nice girl.'
His blue eyes stared fiercely at the little scene. Since the day at Nemi, the boy had understood half at least of the situation. He had perceived then that Eleanor was miserably unhappy. No doubt Manisty was disappointing and tormenting her. What else could she expect?
But really—that she should be forsaken and neglected for this chit of a girl—this interloping American—it was too much! Reggie's wrath glowed within him.
Meanwhile Manisty addressed Lucy.
'I have something I very much wish to say to you. There is a seat by the fountain, quite in shade. Will you try it?'
She glanced hurriedly at her companions.