As Derby brought in Billy Dalton’s name, Nina had a sense of flatness that she would have been at a loss to explain.

“Jack!” she cried suddenly, her surface vanity piqued, but before even the sentence which crowded back of her exclamation could frame itself, Giovanni’s image flashed before her mind and pushed out every other impression.  She seemed to see him racked with suffering, and all for her!  She hated her own vacillation.  She despised herself for a fickle flirt.  What else was she?  Here she was imagining all sorts of vague heartaches that were utterly unworthy of her loyalty either to Giovanni’s love or to Jack’s friendship.  Jack was her best friend, almost her brother, and she had no right to feel so limp because—­she did not finish the sentence even to herself; yet she was swept into such a turmoil of emotion—­friendship, love, pique, doubt—­that she could restore nothing to order.  She knew Derby thought Giovanni wanted her money—­instinctively her mouth hardened as she thought of it—­but then—­every one wanted it except Jack!  And at once, with an unaccountable baffling ache, she was brought face to face with the fact that Jack, as it happened, did not want her at all!

Then, hating herself because she had for a moment thought of Jack as a possible suitor, and more especially because of the detestable and unworthy chagrin that his not being a suitor had caused her, she became hysterically erratic, aloof, and impossible, and began suddenly to talk like a paid guide about the sculptures at the Vatican!  At the end of some minutes, during which Derby failed to get anything in the way of a natural remark from her, he arose to go.  He left with a strong desire to send a doctor and a trained nurse to take Nina in hand.

Down at the entrance of the palace a very pretty woman was speaking with the porter.  She was talking vehemently and with much accompanying gesticulation.  As Derby passed out, she looked up into his face.  He put his hand to his hat, in a vague remembrance of her features, wondering where he had met her, and what her name might be.  As he went through the archway into the street, the recognition came to him.  She was the celebrated dancer, La Favorita.

CHAPTER XXV

“THY PEOPLE SHALL BE MY PEOPLE—­”

The following morning, for the first time since his injury, Giovanni was brought into the princess’s sitting-room, and propped up on a sofa.  As occasionally happens in early spring, midsummer seemed to have arrived in one day, and the windows stood wide open to the morning breeze.

Sitting in the full light of the windows, and close by Giovanni’s couch, Nina was making a necktie—­a very smart one, of dull raspberry silk; but she was knitting rather because the occupation steadied her nerves than for any other reason, and the charmingly tranquil picture that she made was very far from representing her feelings.  She had never been less happy or peaceful in her life.