“Whatever is the matter?” he inquired plaintively.
“So you must be off—yes? I hear you say it; I asking you who to meet?”
“Why do you speak in English?” said Gianapolis with a faint irritation. “Let us talk…”
She struck him lightly on the face with her fan; but he clenched his teeth and suppressed an ugly exclamation.
“Who was it?” she asked, musically, “that say to me, ‘to hear you speaking English—like rippling water’?”
“You are mad!” muttered Gianapolis, beginning to drill the points of his mustache as was his manner in moments of agitation. His crooked eyes were fixed upon the face of the girl. “You go too far.”
“Be watching, my friend, that you also go not too far.”
The tones were silvery as ever, but the menace unmistakable. Gianapolis forced a harsh laugh and brushed up his mustache furiously.
“What are you driving at?” he demanded, with some return of self-confidence. “Am I to be treated to another exhibition of your insane jealousies?”…
“Ah!” The girl’s eyes opened widely; she darted another venomous glance at him. “I am sure now, I am sure!”
“My dear Mahâra, you talk nonsense!”
“Ah!”
