“Fanetti,” he repeated aloud, as if reflecting. “I think not. It is not a Livornese name.”
“She lives in Florence, I believe, but always spends the bathing season at Leghorn,” Tristram added. His quick eyes had detected the Italian’s surprise and anxiety when he had made the unexpected inquiry, and he felt confident that his foppish young friend was concealing the truth.
“I’ve never, to my recollection, met any one of that name,” Romanelli answered with well-feigned carelessness. “Is she a lady or merely a girl of the people?”
“A lady.”
“Young?”
“Quite. She’s engaged to be married to a friend of mine.”
“Engaged to be married?” the young man repeated with a smile. “Is the man an Englishman?”
“Yes, a college chum of mine. He’s well off, and they seem a most devoted pair.”
There was a brief silence.
“I have no recollection of the name in Florentine society, and I certainly have never met her in Livorno,” Romanelli said. “So she’s found a husband? Is she pretty?”