There was a look of conscious security about him, of overwhelming correctness and good taste, of pride in himself and in his success, which Beatrice felt to be almost more than she could bear with equanimity.

He bent gracefully over the Marchesa's hand and bowed low to the young girl, not supposing that hers would be offered to him.

In this he was mistaken, however, for she gave him the ends of her fingers.
"Good morning," she said gently.
The Marchesa looked at her, for she had not expected that she would speak first and certainly not in so gentle a tone.

San Miniato inquired how the two ladies had slept.
"Admirably," said Beatrice.
"Ah--as for me, dearest friend," said the Marchesa, "you know what a nervous creature I am.

I never sleep." "You look as though you had rested wonderfully well," observed Beatrice to San Miniato.