The older Bastoni, in fact, was already bowing before her as Arturo spoke; and Claire jumped up gayly; but gave her table companion a soft glance and a little nod, for au revoir, over the baron's shoulder. Arturo, standing, responded formally, and summoned a waiter to bring his account.
"Liana not stay long," the baron remarked. "I did not ever see 'im in our Salone before. 'E iss very—how you say? Severe? Yes. 'E iss severe young mans."
"Oh, no," Claire laughed. "He isn't severe."
"Not?"
"No; he just looked so to-day," she said, and she added thoughtlessly, "It was only because he didn't want me to come here and he was a little cross."
"'E advice you not to come?" Bastoni asked in a casual and commonplace tone. "Wit' my brozzer?"
His voice was so well modulated to the note of a mild and indifferent inquiry, made merely for the sake of saying something, that she failed to perceive a particular significance in his question. Dance music always made her as light-headed as she was light-footed, her mother sometimes told her with no great exaggeration. "Arturo says this is a terrible joint," she laughed. "I think it's huge fun, myself. There
