The latter, however,
were otherwise engaged and paid little attention to the sailors.
The Marchesa di Mola, having eaten about six mouthfuls of twice that
number of delicacies and having swallowed half a glass of champagne and
a cup of coffee, was extended in her cane rocking-chair, with her back
to the moon and her face to the lamp, trying to imagine herself in her
comfortable sitting room at the hotel, or even in her own luxurious
boudoir in her Sicilian home. The attempt was fairly successful, and the
result was a passing taste of that self-satisfied beatitude which is
the peculiar and enviable lot of very lazy people after dinner. She
cared for nothing and she cared for nobody. San Miniato and Beatrice
might sit over there by the water's edge, in the moonlight, and talk in
low tones as long as they pleased. There were no tiresome people from
the hotel to watch their proceedings, and nothing better could happen
than that they should fall in love, be engaged and married forthwith.
That was certainly not the way the Marchesa could have wished the
courtship and marriage to develop and come to maturity, if there had
been witnesses of the facts from amongst her near acquaintance.
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