Their eyes met for a moment, and then Orsino left the room.  As he lit his cigarette in the porch of the hotel, he said to himself that he had not wasted his hour, and he was pleasantly conscious of tha inward and spiritual satisfaction which every very young man feels when he is aware of having appeared at his best in the society of a woman alone.  Youth without vanity is only premature old age after all.

“She is certainly more than pretty,” he said to himself, affecting to be critical when he was indeed convinced.  “Her mouth is fabulous, but it is well shaped and the rest is perfect—­no, the nose is insignificant, and one of those yellow eyes wanders a little.  These are not perfections.  But what does it matter?  The whole is charming, whatever the parts may be.  I wish she would not go to that horrible fat woman’s tea to-morrow.”

Such were the observations which Orsino thought fit to make to himself, but which by no means represented all that he felt, for they took no notice whatever of that extreme satisfaction at having talked well with Maria Consuelo, which in reality dominated every other sensation just then.  He was well enough accustomed to consideration, though his only taste of society had been enjoyed during the winter vacations of the last two years.  He was not the greatest match in the Roman matrimonial market for nothing, and he was perfectly well aware of his advantages in this respect.  He possessed that keen, business-like appreciation of his value as a marriageable man which seems to characterise the young generation of to-day, and he was not mistaken in his estimate.  It was made sufficiently clear to him at every turn that he had but to ask in order to receive.  But he had not the slightest intention of marrying at one and twenty as several of his old school-fellows were doing, and he was sensible enough to foresee that his position as a desirable son-in-law would soon cause him more annoyance than amusement.

Madame d’Aranjuez was doubtless aware that she could not marry him if she wished to do so.  She was several years older than he—­he admitted the fact rather reluctantly—­she was a widow, and she seemed to have no particular social position.  These were excellent reasons against matrimony, but they were also equally excellent reasons for being pleased with himself at having produced a favourable impression on her.

He walked rapidly along the crowded street, glancing carelessly at the people who passed and at the brilliantly lighted windows of the shops.  He passed the door of the club, where he was already becoming known for rather reckless play, and he quite forgot that a number of men were probably spending an hour at the tables before dinner, a fact which would hardly have escaped his memory if he had not been more than usually occupied with pleasant thoughts.  He did not need the excitement of baccarat nor the stimulus of brandy and soda, for his brain was already both excited and stimulated, though he was not at once aware of it.  But it became clear to him when he suddenly found himself standing before the steps of the Capitol in the gloomy square of the Ara Coeli, wondering what in the world had brought him so far out of his way.