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Page 16
Conversation, to give it that name, was carried on in a
mixture of English and Italian. Lilia had picked up hardly
any of the latter language, and Signor Carella had not yet
learnt any of the former. Occasionally Miss Abbott had to
act as interpreter between the lovers, and the situation
became uncouth and revolting in the extreme. Yet Philip was
too cowardly to break forth and denounce the engagement. He
thought he should be more effective with Lilia if he had her
alone, and pretended to himself that he must hear her
defence before giving judgment.
Signor Carella, heartened by the spaghetti and the
throat-rasping wine, attempted to talk, and, looking
politely towards Philip, said, "England is a great country.
The Italians love England and the English."
Philip, in no mood for international amenities, merely bowed.
"Italy too," the other continued a little resentfully,
"is a great country. She has produced many famous men--for
example Garibaldi and Dante. The latter wrote the
'Inferno,' the 'Purgatorio,' the 'Paradiso.' The 'Inferno'
is the most beautiful." And with the complacent tone of one
who has received a solid education, he quoted the opening
lines--
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura
Che la diritta via era smarrita--
a quotation which was more apt than he supposed.
Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that
she was marrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the
good qualities of her betrothed, she abruptly introduced the
subject of pallone, in which, it appeared, he was a
proficient player. He suddenly became shy and developed a
conceited grin--the grin of the village yokel whose cricket
score is mentioned before a stranger. Philip himself had
loved to watch pallone, that entrancing combination of
lawn-tennis and fives. But he did not expect to love it
quite so much again.
"Oh, look!" exclaimed Lilia, "the poor wee fish!"
A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of
the purple quivering beef they were trying to swallow.
Signor Carella, with the brutality so common in Italians,
had caught her by the paw and flung her away from him. Now
she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying to hook out
the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large
glass stopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture
with it.
"But may not the fish die?" said Miss Abbott. "They
have no air."
"Fish live on water, not on air," he replied in a
knowing voice, and sat down. Apparently he was at his ease
again, for he took to spitting on the floor. Philip glanced
at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. She talked bravely
till the end of the disgusting meal, and then got up saying,
"Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for by-bye. We shall
meet at twelve o'clock lunch tomorrow, if we don't meet
before. They give us caffe later in our rooms."
It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, "I should
like to see you now, please, in my room, as I have come all
the way on business." He heard Miss Abbott gasp. Signor
Carella, who was lighting a rank cigar, had not understood.
It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he
lost all nervousness. The remembrance of his long
intellectual supremacy strengthened him, and he began volubly--
"My dear Lilia, don't let's have a scene. Before I
arrived I thought I might have to question you. It is
unnecessary. I know everything. Miss Abbott has told me a
certain amount, and the rest I see for myself."
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