His lack of insight, so palpable in contrast with Giovanni’s keenness of perception, was too much for Nina’s new sensitiveness.  She suddenly congealed, and stood up, very straight, with the little upward tilt of the chin that indicated fast approaching temper.

Derby knew this symptom well enough, but he had not the slightest idea that his own obtuseness was the cause.  Without analyzing, he accepted her starting up as a signal to leave, and promptly said good-by.  “Good-by, then!” Nina said frigidly; and, turning on her heel, she abruptly left him.

Under the spur of her anger against him, the words framed themselves in her mind—­“How unfinished he is!” But down in her heart there was an ache, deeper than could have been caused by mere irritation, or even disappointment.  Never before in her life had there been a breach between John and her.  She felt it was all the fault of his own density—­or was it lack of feeling?

She went to her room to put on her riding habit, for she was going to the meet.  Then, as she dressed, the thought came to her that John, a foreigner, and the most venturesome person in the world, was going off to Sicily, into the very center of one of the wildest districts.  And gradually fear for him made her forget her resentment.

Just as she was leaving her room a big cornucopia of roses was brought in, to which was appended the following note: 

“If we weren’t such old friends and you didn’t know what a blundering fool I am, I wouldn’t dare to apologize for this morning.  Judge me by intent, though, won’t you—­and forgive me?

          “JACK.”

Nina broke off a rose and fastened it to the lapel of her habit; but the note she tucked in between the buttonholes.  Suddenly humming a gay little song, she ran through the rooms and corridors to join her aunt and uncle, who were waiting for her to motor out to the hunt, the horses having been sent ahead with the grooms.  As they drove out of the courtyard she noticed that the sun was brilliantly shining.

At the meet the scene was really animated, for the day was perfect, and the Via Appia was a bright moving picture of carriages, large and small, big motors and little runabouts, the road dotted here and there with the brilliant scarlet coats of those who were to hunt and the bright colors of women’s dresses in the various conveyances.

There was apparently much lack of system:  the huntsmen chatted aimlessly with persons in the carriages; while the hounds scurried around according to their own inclinations, paying little attention to the snap of the whip.  The Contessa Potensi, who had appeared in a pink hunting coat, was the cynosure of all eyes.  The innovation created quite a stir and no little admiration.  She bowed to Nina with unusual civility, and made a formal acknowledgment of the pleasure of riding with her.  Yet shortly after, when she joined a group of friends a distance farther on, she was laughing and glancing back as she spoke, in a way that left little doubt that she was making disparaging remarks.