Whatsoever he had originally been, whatsoever he had been as a child and a youth, this man had so lived, and had so misused his life, his powers, his means, and his intelligence, that now, feign he never so diligently, he could only look what he was, a _blasé_ little rake, unprincipled and unscrupulous. His tastes were evidently florid: several rings with stones in them decorated his little nervous, fleshless hands; a white rosebud was in his button-hole--type of beauty and virtue. He was in evening dress. Diamond shirt-studs glittered on his narrow expanse of shirt-front, and the hair which was left him was arranged with extreme care and attention. ‘What a horrible little reptile!’ thought Minna. ‘Who and what can he be? What language does he speak? He might be anything--or nothing. He will certainly never die for his country, if he have one.’ She watched how he made his way towards the head of the table; she watched how Fulvia Dietrich suddenly stiffened and seemed to freeze into lifelessness as he approached; how her mother, on the contrary, seeing him coming, leaned back in her chair, smiled a sweet smile of welcome, threw the glance of her curious eyes upwards towards him, and, stretching out both her hands and arms, bare to the elbow, cried in tones which, though not loud, were audible to all: ‘Ah, Marchmont, buona sera! Welcome! We are delighted to see you!’ ‘Good-evening, signora. I’m late, but I have a good reason for it,’ he said, while Minna, with unreasoning annoyance, said to herself: ‘English--how utterly disgusting!’ ‘How d’ya do?’ he went on in English, but with an accent which was not altogether English nor yet American. ‘What a time you’ve been away! Why on earth didn’t you come back sooner?’ ‘Aha-ha!’ laughed the signora, always speaking Italian, ‘questo caro Marchmont. He will always pretend that I speak fluent English. So fond of his little jest! Of course I should have come home sooner; I hate to be separated so long from all my dear friends and guests.’ She looked round with a smile which was more impudent than complimentary to the said guests, and Minna was divided between amusement and indignation. ‘But business is business. Matters connected with my late husband’s affairs have kept me in Milan till now. Fulvia mia, what is the matter with you? Do you not hear that Signor Marchmont is speaking to you?’ She spoke caressingly, or perhaps wished to do so, but could not altogether prevent a sharp tone from coming into her voice, and her eyes looked threatening as she bent them upon her daughter. Fulvia, thus apostrophized, stiffly made some little change in her rigid attitude, turned her head stiffly to one side and bowed to Mr. Marchmont, forced a constrained smile, and, as his hand was thrust close under her eyes and between them and her plate, lifted her own limply and also limply rested it for a second in his.