Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. ‘Playing games to tease me, that’s all he can think of doing.
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