Against the blue water shadowed by the promise of dusk he was a somber and splendid figure. Her heart undeniably beat faster and she was vexed when he turned immediately to Gheta. His greeting was intensely serious, his gaze so hungry that Lavinia looked away. It was vulgar, she told herself. Cesare met them above and greeted Mochales with a superficial heartiness. It was difficult for Cesare Orsi to conceal his opinions and feelings. The other man's gravity was superb. At dinner conversation languished. Gheta, in a very low dress, had a bright red scarf about her shoulders, and was painted. This was so unusual that it had almost the effect of a disguise; her eyes were staring and brilliant, her fingers constantly fidgeting and creasing her napkin. Afterward she walked with Mochales to the corner of the belvedere, where they had all been sitting, and from there drifted the low continuous murmur of her voice, briefly punctuated by a deep masculine note of interrogation. Below, the water was invisible in the wrap of night. Naples shone like a pale gold net drawn about the sweep of its hills. A glow like a thumb print hung over Vesuvius; the hidden column of smoke smudged the stars. Lavinia grew restless and descended to her room, where she procured a fan. Returning, she was partly startled by a pale still figure in the gloom of a passage. She saw that it was Gheta, and spoke; but the other moved away without reply and quickly vanished. Above, Lavinia halted at the strange spectacle--clearly drawn against the luminous depths of space--of Mochales and her husband rigidly facing each other. “I must admit,” Orsi said in an exasperated voice, “that I don't understand.” Lavinia saw that he was holding something in a half-extended hand. Moving closer, she identified the object as the necklace he had given Gheta. “What is it that you don't understand, Cesare?” she asked. “Some infernal joke or foolishness!” “It is no joke, signore,” Mochales responded; “and it is better,--perhaps, for your wife to leave us.” Orsi turned to Lavinia. “He gives me back this necklace of Gheta's,” he explained; “he says that he has every right. It appears that Gheta is going to marry him, and he already objects to presents from her brother-in-law.” “But what stuff!” Lavinia pronounced. A swift surprise overtook her at Cesare's announcement--Gheta and Mochales to marry! She was certain that the arrangement had not existed that morning. A fleet inchoate sorrow numbed her heart and fled. “Orsi has been only truthful enough to suit his own purpose,” Mochales stated, “Signora, please----” He indicated the descent from the belvedere. She moved closer to him, smiling appealingly. “What is it all about?” she queried. “Forgive me; it is impossible to answer.” “Cesare?” She addressed her husband. “Why, this--this donkey hints that there was something improper in my present. It seems that I have been annoying Gheta by my attentions, flattering her with pearls.”