She flashed a whimsical little smile into his eyes. Then she
returned to her wicker chair, glancing an invitation at Peter
to place himself in the one facing her. She leaned back,
resting her head on a pink silk cushion.
Peter, no doubt, sent up a silent prayer that her uncle and her
niece might be detained at the village for the rest of the
afternoon. By her niece he took her to mean Emilia: he liked
her for the kindly euphemism. "What hair she has!" he thought,
admiring the loose brown masses, warm upon their background of
pink silk.
"Oh, I'm inured to waiting," he replied, with a retrospective
mind for the interminable waits of that interminable day.
The Duchessa had taken a fan from the table, and was playing
with it, opening and shutting it slowly, in her lap. Now she
caught Peter's eyes examining it, and she gave it to him. (My
own suspicion is that Peter's eyes had been occupied rather
with the hands that held the fan, than with the fan itself--but
that's a detail.) "I picked it up the other day, in Rome," she said. "Of course,
it's an imitation of the French fans of the last century, but I
thought it pretty."
It was of white silk, that had been thinly stained a soft
yellow, like the yellow of faded yellow rose-leaves. It was
painted with innumerable plump little cupids, flying among pale
clouds. The sticks were of mother-of=pearl. The end-sticks
were elaborately incised, and in the incisions opals were set,
big ones and small ones, smouldering with green and scarlet
fires.
"Very pretty indeed," said Peter, "and very curious. It's like
a great butterfly's wing is n't it? But are n't you afraid of
opals?"
"Afraid of opals?" she wondered. "Why should one be?"
"Unless your birthday happens to fall in October, they're
reputed to bring bad luck," he reminded her.
"My birthday happens to fall in June but I 'll never believe
that such pretty things as opals can bring bad luck," she
laughed, taking the fan, which he returned to her, and stroking
one of the bigger opals with her finger tip.
"Have you no superstitions?" he asked.
"I hope not--I don't think I have," she answered. "We're not
allowed to have superstitions, you know--nous autres
Catholiques."
"Oh?" he said, with surprise. "No, I did n't know."
"Yes, they're a forbidden luxury. But you--? Are you
superstitious? Would you be afraid of opals?"