Then he smiled that quiet meaning smile which all Italians can affect in moments of indecision.
Chapter Twenty Two.
“The Thrush.”
On the night following Pucci’s visit to Hubert Waldron, Her Royal Highness sat before the fire in her handsome bedroom curled up in a soft chair, thinking.
The little leather-framed travelling-clock upon her big dressing-table with its gold and tortoiseshell brushes and toilet accessories showed that midnight was past. She had been to a dinner at the Palazzo Riparbella, where Her Majesty had honoured the Duchess of Riparbella with her presence, and an hour ago they had returned.
She had dismissed her maid-of-honour, and when Renata, her personal maid, had entered to attend her she had sent her to bed. Renata was devoted to her mistress. She was used to the vagaries of Her Highness—who so often wore her dresses in her escapades—so she bowed and retired.
For half an hour, still attired in her handsome, pale blue evening gown, with her dark hair well-dressed, and a beautiful diamond necklet upon her white throat, she had sat staring into the dancing flames, thinking—ever thinking.
At last she stirred herself, rising suddenly to her feet, and then, crossing to her bed, she threw herself upon her knees wildly and bent her head within her white hands.