The Happy End Part 16

A feeling of shame for her sister's ungraciousness possessed Lavinia and mounted to angry resentment. She had no particular desire to champion Cesare, but the simplicity and kindness of his thought demanded more than a superficial admission. At the same time she had no intention of permitting Gheta any display of superiority here.

"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 a.s.sured 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.

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 pa.s.sage. 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 s.p.a.ce--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 p.r.o.nounced.

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."

"Did Gheta tell you that?" Lavinia demanded. A growing resentment took possession of her. "Because if she did, she lied!"

"Ah!" Mochales whispered sharply.

"They're both mad," Orsi told her, "and should be dipped in the bay."

Never had Abrego y Mochales appeared handsomer; never more like fine bronze. That latter fact struck her forcibly. His face was no more mutable than a mask of metal. Its stark rigidity sent a cold tremor to her heart.

"And," she went on impetuously, "since Gheta said that, I'll tell you really about this necklace: Cesare gave it to her because he was sorry for her; because he thought that perhaps he had misled her. He spoke of it to me first."

"No, signora," the Spaniard responded deliberately; "it is not your sister who lies."

Cesare Orsi exclaimed angrily. He took a hasty step; but Lavinia, quicker, moved between the two men.

"This is impossible," she declared, "and must stop immediately! It is childish!"

There was now a metallic ring in Mochales' voice that disturbed her even more than his words. The bull-fighter, completely immobile, seemed a little inhuman; he was without a visible stir of emotion, but Orsi looked more puzzled and angry every moment.

"This," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "in my own house--infamous!"

"Signor Mochales," Lavinia reiterated, "what I have told you is absolutely so."

"Your sister, signora, has said something different.... She did not want to tell me, but I persisted--I saw that something was wrong--and forced it from her."

"Enough!" Orsi commanded. "One can see plainly that you have been duped; some things may be overlooked.... You have talked enough."

Mochales moved easily forward.

"You pudding!" he said in a low even voice. "Do you talk to me--Abrego y Mochales?"