McTaggart, with a solemn face, received these subtle confidences, somewhat relieved by the presence of his other neighbour, graceful and young.
But the Countess Marco Viviani was not in her usual high spirits. A slim brunette, with a wonderful figure, and much admired in the Roman set, she could not brook in any form opposition to her will.
She explained in an audible aside her quarrel—a new-born affair—with her husband, who faced McTaggart and watched the pair with insolent eyes.
It seemed that he had required of her an alteration in the days, arranged between them, when they should appear side by side at the Casino.
Wednesdays and Saturdays had been fixed in order to allow the Count Tuesdays and Fridays to himself to parade there his latest theatrical fancy.
Now "La Carlotta" was making trouble. She wanted to interfere with the rule. But the Countess was adamant. She would not bend before the actress.
"It will make a scandal," she announced. "Everyone knows those are my days! I would prefer to leave the place and go to Bagni di Luca."
But the villa at Viareggio belonged to the Count and he clearly saw that economy forbade a rupture which would mean a second establishment. So he sulked, undecided still, hating his handsome, captious wife—who had known the existence of many "Carlottas" and was plainly unreasonable!
McTaggart felt that the atmosphere was charged with electricity. The poet never opened his mouth, the Principessa was openly troubled. The only person who seemed unmoved by the depression in the air was Don Cesare, her youngest son, who made an unexpected sixth. A handsome youth of seventeen with a black moustache and charming manner—already that of a man of the world—he chattered gaily, enjoying his lunch.
"I wish you would come with me this evening," he said to his host eagerly—"into the marshes and bring your gun—I'm going out after 'beccaccini.' I've had a special punt made for the narrow waterways to the lake. It's a beauty—I want to try it—I'm sure we should have some capital sport."