Sabina had behaved perfectly, so far; the Baroness admitted this, and it had added considerably to her growing social importance to be regarded as the girl’s temporary guardian.  Even royalty had expressed its approval of her conduct and its appreciation of her generosity, and it was one of the Baroness’s chief ambitions to be noticed by royalty.  She had shown a good deal of tact, too, for she was woman enough to guess what the girl must feel, and how hard it must be to accept so much without any prospect of being able to make a return.  So far, however, matters had gone very well, and she had really begun to look forward to the glory of presenting Sabina in society during the following winter, and of steering her to a rich marriage, penniless though she was.

But this morning she had received a new impression which disturbed her.  It was not that she attached much importance to Sabina’s wild talk about working for a living, for that was absurd, on the face of it; but there was something daring in the tone, something in the little careless laugh which made her feel that the delicate girl might be capable of doing very unexpected and dangerous things.  The sudden conviction came upon her that Sabina was of the kind that run away and make love matches, and otherwise break through social conventions in a manner quite irreparable.  And if Sabina did anything of that sort, the Baroness would not only lose all the glory she had gained, but would of course be severely blamed by Roman society, which would be an awful calamity if it did not amount to a social fall.  She alone knew how hard she had worked to build up her position, and she guessed how easily an accident might destroy it.  Her husband had his politics and his finance to interest him, but what would be left to his wife if she once lost her hold upon the aristocracy?  Even the smile of royalty would not make up for that, and royalty would certainly not smile if Sabina, being in her charge, did anything very startlingly unconventional.

Sabina was quite conscious that the Baroness did not understand; indeed, she had not really expected to be understood, and when she saw the shrug of the shoulders that answered her last speech she rose quietly and went to the window.  The blinds were drawn together, for it was now late in May, but she could see down to the street, and as she looked she started a little.

“There is Signor Malipieri!” she cried, and it was clear that she was glad.

The Baroness uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Yes, Sabina was quite sure.  He had just driven up to the door in a cab.  Now he was paying the cabman, too, instead of making him wait.  The Baroness glanced at the showy little clock set in turquoises, which stood on her writing-table, and she put away her unfinished letter.

“We will ask him to stay to luncheon,” she said, in a decided tone.

After sending up to ask if he would be received, Malipieri entered the room with an apology.  He said that he had hoped to find the Baron in, and had been told that he might come at any moment.  The Baroness thereupon asked the visitor to stay to luncheon, and Malipieri accepted, and sat down.