k and carried it
swiftly to him before he could come for it.

Taquisara had seen her movement and had tried to get the stick before
she could, to take it to his friend. He had been too far out of reach,
and she had been before him. But he followed her, and he saw that as she
handed Gianluca his property, she looked up into his face and smiled
very kindly. Gianluca thanked her, smiling too, and the impression any
one would have had was that they thoroughly understood each other. He
bowed again and went out. Veronica turned to come back to the tea-table
and found herself facing Taquisara's fiery eyes. She was surprised, and
looked into his face, very near to him, and waiting for him to stand
aside.

"You are playing with him," he said in a low and angry voice.

The room was long, and Bianca and Ghisleri were at the other end of it.
After he had spoken, Veronica stared at him a moment, in genuine
amazement at his words and manner. Then her eyes gleamed, too, and the
delicate nostrils quivered.

"You are insolent," she said coldly, and turning a little to the right,
she passed him.

"No. I am his friend," he answered, scarcely above a whisper, as she
went by.

He came back, shook hands with Bianca, bowed coldly to Veronica, and
left the room within two minutes after Gianluca.

"What is the matter with Taquisara?" asked Ghisleri, carelessly. "He
seems irritable."

Bianca looked at Veronica.

"Does he? I suppose he is anxious about Don Gianluca."

Veronica was still pale when she spoke, but the tone was cold and
indifferent.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Veronica had felt herself mortally insulted by Taquisara's manner, much
more than by his words, though they had been offensive enough. Her
impression of the man was completely changed, in a moment, and she hoped
that she might never see him again, so long as she lived. It had been
one thing to praise Gianluca to her, and to press his suit for him; it
was quite another to lie in wait for her, as it were, at the end of a
drawing-room and to reproach her brutally and angrily with wishing to
break Gianluca's heart. As she thought of his eyes, and his face, and
his low voice, she grew pale with anger herself, at the mere memory of
his insolence.

It did not strike her that there could be any truth in his accusation.
Gianluca was old enough to take care of himself. Was Taquisara his
nurse, his keeper, his doctor? Gianluca was not making love to her in
his letters, nor