“May I be allowed to endorse Carlotta’s sentiment of appreciation?” I said, with a view to covering her indiscretion, for I saw a flash of conjecture in Pasquale’s eyes and a sudden spot of real red in Judith’s cheeks. She had evidently desired to suggest an old claim on my regard, but to have it based on such intimate details as the enshrining of my photograph was not to her fancy.
“I am vastly beholden to you both,” said Judith, who has a graceful way of receiving compliments. “But,” turning to Pasquale, “we have travelled far from Abyssinia.”
“To Sir Marcus’s mantel-piece. Suppose we stay there.”
“There is you and me and Mrs. Mainwaring,” said the literal Carlotta, “and I am the big one in the middle. It was made big—big,” she added, extending her arms in her exaggerating way. “I was wearing this dress.”
“Mr. Pasquale and I will have to enlarge our frames, Marcus,” said Judith, “or we shall be jealous. We shall have to make common cause together.”
“We will declare an inoffensive alliance,” laughed Pasquale.
“Offensive if you like,” said Judith.
It may have been some effect of the glitter of lights, but I vow I saw a swift interchange of glances. Pasquale immediately turned to Carlotta with a jesting remark, and Judith engaged me in conversation on our old days in Rome. Suddenly she swerved from the topic, and leaning forward, indicated our companions with an imperceptible motion of her head.
“Don’t you think,” she said in a low voice, “they are a well-matched pair? Both young and picturesque; it would solve many things.”
I glanced round. Carlotta, elbow on the table and chin in hand, was looking deep into Pasquale’s eyes, just as she has looked into mine. Her lips had the half-sensuous, half-childish pout provocative of kisses.