But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. His glasses were gone. 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. Figg?" asked Gay. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it.
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