They were advancing across a wide lawn. The Ambassador and Mrs. Swetenham were coming to meet them. The Ambassador, weary of his companion, was looking with pleasure at the two approaching figures, at the sweep of Eleanor's white dress upon the grass, and the frame made by her black lace parasol for the delicacy of her head and neck.
Meanwhile Eleanor and Lucy saw only each other. The girl coloured proudly.
She drew herself erect.
'You cannot give up—what would not be taken—what is not desired,' she said fiercely. Then, in another voice: 'But please, please let me take care of you! Don't let us go to the Villa Borghese!'
She felt her hand pressed passionately, then dropped.
'I am all right,' said Eleanor, almost in her usual voice. 'Eccellenza! we must bid you good-bye—have you seen our gentleman?'
'Ecco,' said the Ambassador, pointing to Manisty, who, in company with the American Monsignore, was now approaching them. 'Let him take you out of the sun at once—you look as though it were too much for you.'
Manisty, however, came up slowly, in talk with his companion. The frowning impatience of his aspect attracted the attention of the group round the Ambassador. As he reached them, he said to the priest beside him—
'You know that he has withdrawn his recantation?'
'Ah! yes'—said the Monsignore, raising his eyebrows, 'poor fellow!'—
The mingled indifference and compassion of the tone made the words bite.
Manisty flushed.