Contini struck his breast with his clenched fist and bit the end of his cigar quite through in his anger.  Then he suddenly seized his hat and rushed out of the room.

Orsino was less surprised at the outburst than might have been expected, and did not attach any great weight to his partner’s dramatic rage.  But he lit a cigarette and carefully thought over the situation, trying to find out whether there were really any ground for Contini’s first remarks.  He was perfectly well aware that as Orsino Saracinesca he would cut his own throat with enthusiasm rather than borrow a louis of Ugo Del Ferice.  But as Andrea Contini and Company he was another person, and so Del Ferice was not Count Del Ferice, nor the Onorevole Del Ferice, but simply a director in a bank with which he had business.  If the interests of Andrea Contini and Company were identical with those of the bank, there was no reason whatever for interrupting relations both amicable and profitable, merely because one member of the firm claimed to be descended from Cola di Bienzo, a defunct personage in whom Orsino felt no interest whatever.  Andrea Contini, considering his social relations, might be on terms of friendship with his hatter, for instance, or might have personal reasons for disliking him.  In neither case could the buying of a hat from that individual be looked upon as an obligation conferred or received by either party.  This was quite clear, and Orsino was satisfied.

“Business is business,” he said to himself, “and people who introduce personal considerations into a financial transaction will get the worst of the bargain.”

Andrea Contini was apparently of the same opinion, for when he entered the room again at the end of an hour his excitement had quite disappeared.

“If we take another contract from the count,” he said, “is there any reason why we should not take a larger one, if it is to be had?  We could manage three or four buildings now that you have become such a good bookkeeper.”

“I am quite of your opinion,” Orsino answered, deciding at once to make no reference to what had gone before.

“The only question is, whether we have capital enough for a margin.”

“Leave that to me.”

Orsino determined to consult his mother, in whose judgment he felt a confidence which he could not explain but which was not misplaced.  The fact was simple enough.  Corona understood him thoroughly, though her comprehension of his business was more than limited, and she did nothing in reality but encourage his own sober opinion when it happened to be at variance with some enthusiastic inclination which momentarily deluded him.  That quiet pushing of a man’s own better reason against his half considered but often headstrong impulses, is after all one of the best and most loving services which a wise woman can render to a man whom she loves, be he husband, son or brother.  Many women have no other secret, and indeed there are few