He was angry with himself for having been so foolish as to
make his visit to Maria Consuelo a mere appointment with Del Ferice, and
he was surprised beyond measure to find himself suddenly engaged in a
social acquaintance with the latter, when he had only meant to enter
into relations of business with him. Yet it did not occur to him that
Del Ferice had in any way entrapped him into accepting the invitation.
Del Ferice had saved him from a very awkward situation. Why? Because Del
Ferice had seen the gesture Maria Consuelo had made, and had understood
it, and wished to give Orsino another opportunity of discussing his
project. But if Del Ferice had seen the quick sign, he had probably
interpreted it in a way compromising to Madame d'Aranjuez. This was
serious, though it was assuredly not Orsino's fault if she compromised
herself. She might have let him go without question, and since an
explanation of some sort was necessary she might have waited until the
next day to demand it of him. He resented what she had done, and yet
within the last quarter of an hour, he had been making a declaration of
love to her. He was further conscious that the said declaration had been
wholly lacking in spirit, in passion and even in eloquence. He probably
did not love her after all, and with an attempt at his favourite
indifference he tried to laugh at himself.

But the effort was not successful, and he felt something approaching to
pain as he realised that there was nothing to laugh at. He remembered
her eyes and her face and the tones of her voice, and he imagined that
if he could turn back now and see her again, he could say in one breath
such things as would move a statue to kisses. The very phrases rose to
his lips and he repeated them to himself as he walked along.

Most unaccountable of all had been Maria Consuelo's own behaviour. Her
chief preoccupation seemed to have been to get rid of him as soon as
possible. She had been very seriously offended with him to-day, much
more deeply, indeed, than yesterday, though, the cause appeared to his
inexperience to be a far less adequate one. It was evident, he thought,
that she had not really pardoned his want of tact, but had yielded to
the necessity of giving a reluctant forgiveness, merely because she did
not wish to break off her acquaintance with him. On the other hand, she
had allowed him to say again and again that he loved her, and she had
not forbidden him to call her by her name.