'—And as I told you last night, she is almost as handsome as your Greek head—and very like her.'
'My dear lady—you have the wildest notions!'
Mrs. Burgoyne picked up her parasol.
'Quite true.—Your aunt tells me she was so disappointed, poor child, that there was no church of her own sort for her to go to this morning.'
'What!'—cried Manisty—'Did she expect a conventicle in the Pope's own town!'
For Marinata owned a Papal villa and had once been a favourite summer residence of the Popes.
'No—but she thought she might have gone into Rome, and she missed the trains. I found her wandering about the salon looking quite starved and restless.'
'Those are hungers that pass!—My heart is hard.—There—your bell is stopping. Eleanor!—I wonder why you go to these functions?'
He turned to look at her, his fine eye sharp and a little mocking.
'Because I like it.'