“A friend of ours--it was Bembo--said that he saw you at San Sebastian with your King,” Anna Mantegazza put in. “Why not? But Alphonso is a fine boy; he understands the business of royalty. Every year I dedicate a magnificent bull to the King on his name day.” “Will you dedicate one to me?” Gheta asked carelessly. “The best in Andalusia,” he responded with fire. Cesare Orsi made a slight sharp exclamation, and Lavinia's heart beat painfully. The former turned to her with sudden determination. “Were you comfortable in my carriage,” he demanded, “and fetched home at a smart pace?” Lavinia thanked him. “You are always so quiet,” he complained. “I'm certain there's a great deal in that wise young head worth hearing.” “Lavinia is still in the schoolroom,” Gheta explained brutally. “Yesterday she put up her hair, to-day Anna Mantegazza invites her, and we have an effect.” Anna Mantegazza turned to the younger with a new veiled scrutiny. Her gaze rested for an instant on Orsi and then moved contemplatively to Gheta and Abrego y Mochales. It was evident that her thoughts were very busy; a faint sparkle appeared in her eyes, a fresh vivacity animated her manner. Suddenly she included Lavinia in her remarks; she put queries to the girl patently intended to draw her out. Gheta grew uneasy and then cross. “I'm sick of sitting here,” she declared; “let's walk about. It's cooler, and Pier Mantegazza's place is always worth investigation.” She rose and waited for Cesare Orsi, then led the small procession from under the striped tea kiosk down the terrace. The way grew steep and she rested a hand on Orsi's arm. Anna, Lavinia and the Flower of Spain followed together, until the first moved forward to join the leaders. Lavinia's gaze was obscured by a sort of warm mist; she clasped her hands to keep them from trembling. In a narrow flagged turn Mochales brushed her shoulder. He scarcely moved his eyes from Gheta's back. Once he gazed somberly at the girl beside him and she responded with a pale questioning smile. “I have had a great misfortune,” he told her. “Oh, I'm terribly, terribly sorry!” “I've lost a blessed coin that interceded for me since the first day I went in the bull ring. I'd give a thousand wax candles for its return. Now--when I need everything,” he continued as if to himself. “Your sister is beautiful,” he added abruptly. “Everybody thinks so,” Lavinia replied in a voice she endeavored to make enthusiastic. “She has had tens of admirers here and at Rome and Lucca.” There she knew she should stop; but she continued: “Cesare Orsi is very persistent and tremendously rich.”