Suddenly she swerved from the topic, and leaning forward, indicated our companions with an imperceptible motion of her head.
"Don't you think," she said in a low voice, "they are a well-matched pair?
Both young and picturesque; it would solve many things." I glanced round.

Carlotta, elbow on the table and chin in hand, was looking deep into Pasquale's eyes, just as she has looked into mine.

Her lips had the half-sensuous, half-childish pout provocative of kisses.
"Do, and I will love you," I heard her say.
Oh, those dove-notes, those melting eyes, those lips! Oh, the horrible fool passion that burns out my soul and brain and reduces me to rave like a lovelorn early Victorian tailor! Which was worse I know not--the spasm of jealousy or the spasm of self-contempt that followed it.

At that moment the music ceased suddenly on a loud crashing chord.
The moment seemed to be magnetic to all but Carlotta, who was enjoying herself prodigiously.

Our three personalities appeared to vibrate rudely one against the other.