The contessa glanced at him for a moment to make sure that his misunderstanding was wilful.
“Yes,” she replied, meaningly; “and I understand that in Boston the revised adage reads, ‘God tempers the east wind to the blue-bloods.’”
“And I was just going to say some nice things about Milwaukee!” Emory continued.
“Then it is just as well that I discouraged you,” the contessa interrupted. “No one who has not lived there can ever think of anything complimentary to say about Milwaukee except to expatiate upon its beer. That seems to mark the limitations of his acquaintance with our city.”
The contessa turned to Helen. “Mr. Cartwright tells me that you and your husband are my mysterious neighbors, about whom we have had so much curiosity. You must let me call on you very soon.”
Helen was studying her new acquaintance with much interest. Her features were as clearly cut as if the work of a master-sculptor, yet nature had improved upon human skill by adding a color to the cheeks and a vivacity to the eye which made their owner irresistible to all who met her; while the simple elegance of her lingerie gown, in striking contrast to the dress of the Italian women near her, set off to advantage the lines of her graceful figure. She was a few years older than Helen, yet evidently a younger woman in years than in experience. Uncle Peabody’s comments had naturally prejudiced Helen to an extent, yet she could not resist a certain appeal which unconsciously attracted her.
“I hope we may see much of each other,” the contessa continued, cordially, scarcely giving Helen an opportunity even for perfunctory replies. “Morelli is housed by the gout at least half of the time, and he bores me to death with his description of the various symptoms. I will run over to Villa Godilombra and let you rehearse your troubles for a change. But, of course, you have no troubles—Mr. Cartwright said you were a bride, did he not?”
The contessa noticed the color which came in Helen’s face, and her experience, tempered by her intuition, told her that it was not a blush of pleasure.
“Where is your husband?” she asked, pointedly. “You must present him to me.”
“He is engaged upon some literary work at the library,” Helen replied.