“You need only say they were from Cesare,” she observed coldly; “with him, it is always pearls.” Such a tide of pleasure swept over her husband's countenance that Lavinia bit her lip in annoyance. She had intended only to rebuke Gheta and had not calculated the effect of her speech upon Cesare. She was scrupulously careful not to mislead the latter with regard to her feeling for him. She went to a rather needless extreme to demonstrate that she conducted herself from a sense of duty and propriety alone. Her married life, she assured herself, already resembled the Mantegazzas', whose indifferent courtesy she had marked and wondered at. Perhaps in time, like them, she would grow accustomed to it; but now it took all her determination to maintain the smallest daily amenities. It was not that her actual condition was unbearable, but only that it was so tragically removed from what she had imagined; she had dreamed of romance, it had been embodied for her eager gaze--and she had married Cesare Orsi! Gheta returned the necklace to its box and the dinner progressed in silence. The coffee was on when the elder sister said: “I had a card from the Grand Hotel a while ago; Abrego y Mochales is there.” “And there,” Orsi put in promptly, “I hope he'll stay, or sail for Spain. I don't want the clown about here.” Gheta turned. “But you will regret that,” she addressed Lavinia; “you always found him so fascinating.” Lavinia's husband cleared his throat sharply; he was clearly impatiently annoyed. “What foolishness!” he cried. “From the first, Lavinia has been scarcely conscious of his existence.” Lavinia avoided her sister's mocking gaze, disturbed and angry. “Certainly Signore Mochales must be asked here,” she declared. “I suppose it can't be avoided,” Orsi muttered. It was arranged that the Spaniard should dine with them on the following evening and Lavinia spent the intervening time in exploring her emotions. She recognized now that Gheta hated both Cesare and herself, and that she would miss no opportunity to force an awkward or even dangerously unpleasant situation upon them. Gheta had sharpened in being as well as in countenance to such a degree that Lavinia lost what natural affection for her sister she had retained. This, in a way, allied her with Cesare. She was now able at least to survey him in a detached manner, with an impersonal comprehension of his good qualities and aesthetic shortcomings; and in pointing out to Gheta the lavish beauty of her--Lavinia's--surroundings, she engendered in herself a slight proprietary pride. She met Abrego y Mochales at the basin with a direct bright smile, standing firmly upon her wall.