Five minutes had not elapsed before she came, and her appearance momentarily dispelled Orsino’s annoyance at his own rashness.  He had never before seen her dressed for the evening, and he had not realised how much to her advantage the change from the ordinary costume, or the inevitable “tea-garment,” to a dinner gown would be.  She was assuredly not over-dressed, for she wore black without colours and her only ornament was a single string of beautiful pearls which Donna Tullia believed to be false, but which Orsino accepted as real.  Possibly he knew even more about pearls than the countess, for his mother had many and wore them often, whereas Donna Tullia preferred diamonds and rubies.  But his eyes did not linger on the necklace, for Maria Consuelo’s whole presence affected him strangely.  There was something light-giving and even dazzling about her which he had not expected, and he understood for the first time that the language of the newspaper paragraphs was not so grossly flattering as he had supposed.  In spite of the great artistic defects of feature, which could not long escape an observer of ordinary taste, it was clear that Maria Consuelo must always be a striking and central figure in any social assembly, great or small.  There had been moments in Orsino’s acquaintance with her, when he had thought her really beautiful; as she now appeared, one of those moments seemed to have become permanent.  He thought of what he had dared on the preceding day, his vanity was pleased and his equanimity restored.  With a sense of pride which was very far from being delicate and was by no means well founded, he watched her as she walked in to dinner before him, leaning on Del Ferice’s arm.

“Beautiful—­eh?  I see you think so,” whispered Donna Tullia in his ear.

The countess treated him at once as an old acquaintance, which put him at his ease, while it annoyed his conscience.

“Very beautiful,” he answered, with a grave nod.

“And so mysterious,” whispered the countess again, just as they reached the door of the dining-room.  “She is very fascinating—­take care!”

She tapped his arm familiarly with her fan and laughed, as he left her at her seat.

“What are you two laughing at?” asked Del Ferice, smiling pleasantly as he surveyed the six oysters he found upon his plate, and considered which should be left until the last as the crowning tit-bit.  He was fond of good eating, and especially fond of oysters as an introduction to the feast.

“What we were laughing at?  How indiscreet you are, Ugo!  You always want to find out all my little secrets.  Consuelo, my dear, do you like oysters, or do you not?  That is the question.  You do, I know—­a little lemon and a very little red pepper—­I love red, even to adoring cayenne!”

Orsino glanced at Madame d’Aranjuez, for he was surprised to hear Donna Tullia call her by her first name.  He had not known that the two women had reached the first halting place of intimacy.