Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. But beyond "amicable agreement in which mutual concessions are made," the word "compromise" was as blank as the Canton wall at night. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. . After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. "Promise me that.
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