He glanced quickly at me.

“Did I not say so?” he exclaimed.  “Of all creatures under heaven she is surely the most perfect!  Even you, conte, with your cynical ideas about women, even you were quite subdued and influenced by her; I could see it!”

I puffed slowly at my cigar and pretended to meditate.

“Was I?” I said at last, with an air of well-acted surprise.  “Really subdued and influenced?  I do not think so.  But I admit I have never seen a woman so entirely beautiful.”

He stopped in his walk, loosened his arm from mine, and regarded me fixedly.

“I told you so,” he said, deliberately.  “You must remember that I told you so.  And now perhaps I ought to warn you.”

“Warn me!” I exclaimed, in feigned alarm.  “Of what? against whom?  Surely not the Contessa Romani, to whom you were so anxious to introduce me?  She has no illness, no infectious disorder?  She is not dangerous to life or limb, is she?”

Ferrari laughed at the anxiety I displayed for my own bodily safety--an anxiety which I managed to render almost comic—­but he looked somewhat relieved too.

“Oh, no,” he said, “I meant nothing of that kind.  I only think it fair to tell you that she has very seductive manners, and she may pay you little attentions which would flatter any man who was not aware that they are only a part of her childlike, pretty ways; in short, they might lead him erroneously to suppose himself the object of her particular preference, and—­”

I broke into a violent fit of laughter, and clapped him roughly on the shoulder.

“Your warning is quite unnecessary, my good young friend,” I said.  “Come now, do I look a likely man to attract the attention of an adored and capricious beauty?  Besides, at my age the idea is monstrous!  I could figure as her father, as yours, if you like, but in the capacity of a lover—­impossible!”

He eyed me attentively

“She said you did not seem old,” he murmured, half to himself and half to me.

“Oh, I grant you she made me that little compliment, certainly,” I answered, amused at the suspicions that evidently tortured his mind; “and I accepted it as it was meant—­in kindness.  I am well aware what a battered and unsightly wreck of a man I must appear in her eyes when contrasted with you, Sir Antinous!”

He flushed warmly.  Then, with a half-apologetic air, he said: 

“Well, you must forgive me if I have seemed overscrupulous.  The contessa is like a—­a sister to me; in fact, my late friend Fabio encouraged a fraternal affection between us, and now he is gone I feel it more than ever my duty to protect her, as it were, from herself.  She is so young and light-hearted and thoughtless that—­but you understand me, do you not?”