“Vere, run in and get the Marchese a Khali Targa.”
The girl got up quickly.
“No, no! I cannot permit—I have another here.”
He opened his case. It was empty.
Vere laughed.
“You see!”
She went off before he could say another word, and the Marchesino was alone for a moment with Hermione.
“You are fortunate, Signora, in having such a daughter,” he said, with a sigh that was boyish.
“Yes,” Hermione said.
That bitter curiosity was still with her, and her voice sounded listless, almost cold. The Marchesino looked up. Ah! Was there something here that he could understand? Something really feminine? A creeping jealousy? He was on the qui vive at once.