” “Why?” asked Hetty. Some friends who saw us dining together persist in alluding to her as Miss Annabel Pellissier. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her.
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