She sat down upon a marble bench looking about her with genuine admiration. “It is beautiful, Alexis.”
The small round hall was paved with large black and white marble slabs. In the center was a fountain over which presided the green bronze of a nude girl. Exquisitely slender, her arms were thrown above her head to support the masses of hair from whence water spouted. It trickled over face and breast, over delicate, rounded thighs, polishing them into black marble, but leaving the slender, curved back bare and lusterless. The gurgle and splash filled the room with liquid music, as thirst-assuaging as a mountain brook.
“What a lovely creature!” Anne encircled the fountain dreamily. “But doesn’t her back ever get wet?”
“No, she is like an ostrich. What she doesn’t see simply doesn’t exist. I find her very irritating. I often splash her in revenge.”
“How ungentlemanly!” Anne laughed. She moved away aimlessly.
He put his arm through hers almost timidly. “Would you like to see your room?”
“Why not?” Her voice was deliberately careless.
They mounted the curving, marble stairs, arm in arm.
“I hope you will like it. It is a bit rococo.”
“Oh, I shan’t mind. I know Karzimova’s taste is supposed to be somewhat barbaric. It will be quite amusing to occupy her room. But weren’t you in luck to get hold of her villa?”