His tone was mildly reminiscent, his look anything but romantic or sentimental. Teresa's sympathy was checked, and she walked on more soberly.
That night she was dining at Nina's house, with some of the French colony. She arrived a little early and went up to Nina's room. Nina was dressing with her usual rapidity; she never spent more than twenty minutes on a toilette. To-night she had not even given herself time to have her hair done by the Italian maid. Nonchalantly pinning on a coil of false hair, she said over her shoulder to Teresa:
"You must be tired from your day's expedition."
"Not a bit—I haven't felt so well for years. That air up there puts life into one, I've never known anything so wonderful! It's a pity you don't walk, Nina—you've no idea how delicious this country is," Teresa answered happily, contemplating her own long black figure in a mirror. She was wearing a gauze dress that she especially liked, and she had a charming colour from her day on the heights.
"Would you take me as third on your walks?" asked Nina, satirically.
"Of course—why not?"
"Don't be hypocritical—you wouldn't. But do you think you ought to go off like this, alone, every day? People notice it."
