“I shall accept the offer on one condition:—­you go to Vienna with me!”

Giovanni looked quite as though the gates of Paradise were opening before him.  Even Favorita believed his enthusiasm genuine as he exclaimed, “Ah, that would be charming!” Then he seemed to be considering the matter eagerly.  “That I want to go with you—­of that there can be no doubt!  I am merely wondering how it can be managed.”

Now that she seemed to be getting her own way, and her jealousy was allayed, Favorita was soft, and sweet, and affectionate as a little black cat.  “Rosso is going to Hungary,” she purred.  “You can easily say you are going with him on his trip, whereas you can really be in Vienna!”

“That sounds perfect!” he returned gayly; “at least you can accept the manager’s offer!”

“Do you promise to go with me?  You must swear it!” He hesitated as he rapidly turned the situation over in his mind.  Now that he had determined to marry Nina, the main thing was to keep Favorita away, for, should she have an opportunity to unburden her heart to the heiress, that would be the end of his matrimonial chances.  But if he could get the dancer to Vienna, and keep her there, then find an excuse for at least a short absence from her, he could come back to Rome, win Nina, be married at once—­and then let come what would!  An independent American girl would throw him over, he knew that; but a wife would be different!  A wife would have to forgive.

“Will you promise?” repeated Favorita.

“Yes, I promise,” he said.  “Come, we will fill in the contract!”

CHAPTER XIX

A CHALLENGE, AND AN ANSWER

Nina had intended taking her Italian teacher out with her in the automobile.  She did this quite often, as it was as easy to practice Italian conversation in a motor-car as anywhere else.  But after half an hour—­Favorita was nearly that late—­she had given up waiting and telephoned Zoya Olisco suggesting that they two spend the day at Tivoli.  Zoya agreed, and Nina was on her way to fetch her when she passed Giovanni and Favorita.  But she neither saw the former nor recognized the latter.

It was after six o’clock when Nina returned from Tivoli, and she had to hurry to dress for an early dinner, as it was the Sanseveros’ regular Lenten evening at home.

Nina particularly liked these informal receptions, where the company was composed, for the most part, of really interesting, agreeable people.  There was always music, generally by amateur performers; occasionally there was some other form of impromptu entertainment, an impersonation or a recitation.  Throughout the evening there was the simplest sort of buffet supper:  tea, bouillon—­a claret cup, perhaps, and possibly chocolate, little cakes, and sandwiches; never more.  But the princess was one of those hostesses whose personality thoroughly pervades a house; a type which is becoming rare with every change in our modern civilization, and without which people might as well congregate in a hotel parlor.  Each guest at the Palazzo Sansevero carried away the impression that not only had he been welcome himself, but that his presence had added materially to the enjoyment of others.