"Let me see—" I mused with heavy facetiousness, as though cogitating a deep problem, "do I like them?" I walked a step or two and faced her. "You are the only one I know—and I certainly like you," I added mildly.
She uncoiled herself, rose up swiftly and took a step in my direction. On a sudden she stumbled, gave a little cry and pitched forward, so that I barely had time to catch her.
"No—yes," she gasped and lay for a moment in my arms breathing heavily, her bosom pressing against mine.
"It’s all right," she whispered thickly. "Just let me rest a minute." And then that astonishing girl suddenly lifted up her hand, passed it lightly over my head and murmured that she loved the color of my hair!
"It’s light brown," she explained, "not pitch black like mine," and then she rested her head lightly on my shoulder. "And I love your name—it’s so nice—_Randolph_!"
"Let me lead you," I murmured, as though I were the helpless one.
"_Ecco!_" I suddenly heard the voice of Visconti laughing behind me, and Gina’s hand clutched my shoulder convulsively. I confess that at my heart was a clutch of sheer blue funk.
"She has just turned her ankle!" I exclaimed mechanically.
"It’s all right, papa," put in Gina’s cheerful voice. "It’s these old slippers. I’ll go and change them." And to my amazement she straightened up, flashed a radiant smile at both of us, and walked to the door with only the slightest of limps.
"Sure you can walk alone?" I managed to stammer.
"Oh, yes!" Gina waved her hand at the door. "I’ll be down soon."
The father laughed loudly and put his hand upon my shoulder.
"Come, _caro mio_, let us have a little smoke." I followed him dazedly. "Wonderful girl, Gina!" he exclaimed. "High spirits, eh?"
"Er—yes, indeed—very high." I felt as though I had emerged from a severe physical struggle.
"I can see—oh, even an old man like me can see," he chuckled jovially, as he held his cigar box toward me in the smoking room, "that you young people like each other—eh? Oh, sit down, sit down, _amico mio_. It is all right—all right. I must get used to the idea of the bambino, being grown up," and forcing me down into a leather chair, he continued to tap my shoulder by way of emphasizing his words. "I have been young—yes! I understand—and trust me, my boy, you cannot do better. Gina—Gina is one treasure for a man. Ah—yes! No love like the Italian woman’s love. She will make you the best—"