inevitable exclamations. At last she was obliged to proceed. The rest stood by the entrance of the dining room. Anna Mantegazza was laughing at a puzzled expression on the good-natured countenance of Cesare Orsi; Gheta was slowly waving a fan of gilded feathers; Abrego y Mochales was standing rigid and somberly handsome; and, as usual, Pier Mantegazza was late.
Gheta Sanviano turned and saw Lavinia approaching, and the elder's face, always pale, grew suddenly chalky; it was drawn, and the wrinkles, carefully treated with paste, became visible about her eyes. Her hands shook a little as she took a step forward.
"What does this mean, Lavinia?" she demanded. "Why did I know nothing about that dress?"
"I knew nothing myself until a little bit ago," Lavinia explained apologetically, filled with a formless pity for Gheta. "Isn't it pretty? Anna Mantegazza gave it to me."
She could see, over Gheta's shoulder, Cesare Orsi staring at her in idiotic surprise.
"Don't you like it, Gheta?" Anna asked.
Gheta Sanviano didn't answer, but closed her eyes for a moment in an effort to control the anger that shone in them. The silence deepened to constraint, and then she laughed lightly.
"Quite a woman of fashion!" she observed of Lavinia. "Fancy! It's a pity that she must go back to the convent so soon."
Her eyes while she was speaking were directed toward Anna Mantegazza and the resentment changed to hatred. The other shrugged her shoulders indifferently and moved
