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"Your cigarette has gone out, Marchese," said Hermione. "Have
another."
The young man started.
"It's nothing."
"Vere, run in and get the Marchese a Khali Targa."
The girl got up quickly.
"No, no! I cannot permit--I have another here."
He opened his case. It was empty.
Vere laughed.
"You see!"
She went off before he could say another word, and the Marchesino was
alone for a moment with Hermione.
"You are fortunate, Signora, in having such a daughter," he said, with
a sigh that was boyish.
"Yes," Hermione said.
That bitter curiosity was still with her, and her voice sounded
listless, almost cold. The Marchesino looked up. Ah! Was there
something here that he could understand? Something really feminine? A
creeping jealousy? He was on the /qui vive/ at once.
"And such a good friend as Don Emilio," he added. "You have known
Emilio for a long time, Signora?"
"Oh yes, for a very long time."
"He is a strange man," said the Marchesino, with rather elaborate
carelessness.


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