Orsino had kept his temper admirably, and he did not suffer a hasty word to escape his lips nor a shadow of irritation to appear in his face.  Yet she had pressed him in a way which was little short of rude.  She was silent for a few seconds, during which Orsino watched her face as she turned it slightly away from him and from the lamp.  In reality he was wondering why she was not more communicative about herself, and speculating as to whether her silence in that quarter proceeded from the consciousness of a perfectly assured position in the world, or from the fact that she had something to conceal; and this idea led him to congratulate himself upon not having been obliged to act immediately upon his first proposal by bringing about an acquaintance between Madame d’Aranjuez and his mother.  This uncertainty lent a spice of interest to the acquaintance.  He knew enough of the world already to be sure that Maria Consuelo was born and bred in that state of life to which it has pleased Providence to call the social elect.  But the peculiar people sometimes do strange things and afterwards establish themselves in foreign cities where their doings are not likely to be known for some time.  Not that Orsino cared what this particular stranger’s past might have been.  But he knew that his mother would care very much indeed, if Orsino wished her to know the mysterious lady, and would sift the matter very thoroughly before asking her to the Palazzo Saracinesca.  Donna Tullia, on the other hand, had committed herself to the acquaintance on her own responsibility, evidently taking it for granted that if Orsino knew Madame d’Aranjuez, the latter must be socially irreproachable.  It amused Orsino to imagine the fat countess’s rage if she turned out to have made a mistake.

“I shall be the loser too,” said Maria Consuelo, in a different tone, “if I make a bad choice.  But I cannot draw back.  I took her to her house in my carriage.  She seemed to take a fancy to me—­” she laughed a little.

Orsino smiled as though to imply that the circumstance did not surprise him.

“And she said she would come to see me.  As a stranger I could not do less than insist upon making the first visit, and I named the day—­or rather she did.  I am going to-morrow.”

“To-morrow?  Tuesday is her day.  You will meet all her friends.”

“Do you mean to say that people still have days in Rome?” Maria Consuelo did not look pleased.

“Some people do—­very few.  Most people prefer to be at home one evening in the week.”

“What sort of people are Madame Del Ferice’s friends?”

“Excellent people.”

“Why are you so cautious?”

“Because you are about to be one of them, Madame.”

“Am I?  No, I will not begin another catechism!  You are too clever—­I shall never get a direct answer from you.”

“Not in that way,” answered Orsino with a frankness that made his companion smile.