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"But, well, the Signorina has much more English blood in her veins
than Sicilian. She has only a little Sicilian blood."
"But the Signorina thinks she is almost a Sicilian. She wishes to be a
Sicilian."
"How do you know that, Gaspare?" she asked, smiling a little at his
firmness and persistence.
"The Signorina said so the other day to the giovinotto who had the
cigarettes, Signora. I talked to him, and he told me. He said the
Signorina had said to him that she was partly a Sicilian, and that he
had said 'no,' that she was English. And when he said that--he said to
me--the Signorina was quite angry. He could see that she was angry by
her face."
"I suppose that is the Sicilian blood, Gaspare. There is some in the
Signorina's veins, of course. And then, you know, both her father and
I loved your country. I think the Signorina must often long to see
Sicily."
"Does she say so?" asked Gaspare, looking rather less calm.
"She has not lately. I think she is very happy here.


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