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.
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