"Miss Burgoyne was in it--she bowed to you--"
"Did she? I didn't see her--I'll have to apologize to her to-morrow,"
said he, carelessly. "Perhaps the compliment was meant for you, Nina."
"For me? Ah, no. Miss Burgoyne speaks no more to me."
"She doesn't speak to you? Why?" he asked, in some amazement.
The young Italian lady made a little gesture of indifference.
"How do I know? But I am not sorry. I do not like her--no! she is
not--she is not--straightforward, is it right?--she is cunning--and she
has a dreadful temper--oh! I have heard;--I have heard such stories!
Again, she is not an artist--I said that to you from the beginning,
Leo--no, not an artist: why does she talk to you from behind her fan,
when she should regard the others on the stage? Why does she talk always
and always to you, when she has nothing to say?"
"Oh, but she finds plenty to say!" he observed.
"Yes," said Nina, contemptuously, "she has always plenty to say to you
on the stage, if she has not a word the moment the scene is over. Why?
You don't understand! You don't reflect! I will tell you, Leo, if you
are so simple. You think she does not know that the public can see she
talks to you? She knows it well; and that is why she talks.
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