"Mamma likes to run about," said Flavia, sweetly, in explanation.
Giovanni had risen and made as though he would have been of some
assistance.
The action was characteristic of the Princess Montevarchi. An
Italian woman would neither have rung the bell herself, nor have
committed such an imprudence as to turn her back upon her two
daughters when there was a man in the room. But she was English,
and a whole lifetime spent among Italians could not extinguish her
activity; so she went to the door herself. Faustina's deep eyes
followed her mother as though she were interested to know the news
of Gouache.
"I hope he is better," she said, quietly.
"Of course," echoed Flavia, "So do I. But mamma amuses me so much!
She is always in a hurry."
Faustina made no answer, but she looked at Sant' Ilario, as though
she wondered what he thought of her sister. He returned her gaze,
trying to explain to himself the strange attraction of her
expression, watching her critically as he would have watched any
new person or sight. She did not blush nor avoid his bold eyes, as
he would have expected had he realised that he was staring at her.
A few minutes later Giovanni found himself in a narrow, high room,
lighted by one window, which showed the enormous thickness of the
walls in the deep embrasure.
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