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Updated: June 21, 2025
"But I tell you plainly I have changed sides." "If you do no more, that is all we want. You promise not to prejudice our cause by speaking to Signor Carella?" "Oh, certainly. I don't want to speak to him again; I shan't ever see him again." "Quite nice, wasn't he?" "Quite." "Well, that's all I wanted to know. I'll go and tell Harriet of your promise, and I think things'll quiet down now."
And whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott's presence spoilt the comedy: she would do nothing funny. During this short meditation he had walked through the city, and was out on the other side. "Where does Signor Carella live?" he asked the men at the Dogana. "I'll show you," said a little girl, springing out of the ground as Italian children will.
Then, for a moment, she saw light. "It is not necessary, Signor Carella. Since you are tired of the baby " Ever after she remembered it to her credit that she saw her mistake at once. "I don't mean that," she added quickly. "I know," was his courteous response. She looked at his face. It was apparently innocent of satire.
I think, Miss Abbott, you had better take entire charge of the rescue party. I have asked for an interview with Signor Carella tomorrow morning. Do you acquiesce?" She nodded again. "Might I ask for details of your interview with him? They might be helpful to me." He had spoken at random. To his delight she suddenly collapsed. Her hand fell from the window.
There came to him an earnest desire to be good through the example of this good woman. He would try henceforward to be worthy of the things she had revealed. Quietly, without hysterical prayers or banging of drums, he underwent conversion. He was saved. "That milk," said she, "need not be wasted. Take it, Signor Carella, and persuade Mr. Herriton to drink."
She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he said, but feeling that he was very clever. Then she continued her defence of Signor Carella. "And now, like most young men, he is looking out for something to do." "Meanwhile?" "Meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his people father, mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a brother."
They had the smelly dining-room to themselves. Lilia, very smart and vociferous, was at the head of the table; Miss Abbott, also in her best, sat by Philip, looking, to his irritated nerves, more like the tragedy confidante every moment. That scion of the Italian nobility, Signor Carella, sat opposite. Behind him loomed a bowl of goldfish, who swam round and round, gaping at the guests.
To recover her self-esteem she tried to imagine that she was in her district, and to behave accordingly. "What a fine child, Signor Carella. And how nice of you to talk to it. Though I see that the ungrateful little fellow is asleep! Seven months? No, eight; of course eight. Still, he is a remarkably fine child for his age." Italian is a bad medium for condescension.
"I'm afraid that's rude," she added, trying to calm herself. "Let us rather say unhappily expressed," said Philip, who always adopted a dry satirical manner when he was puzzled. "I want to finish. Next morning I found Signor Carella and said the same to him. He well, he was willing. That's all." "And the telegram?" He looked scornfully out of the window.
"Welcome!" she cried. "Welcome to Monteriano!" He greeted her, for he did not know what else to do, and a sympathetic murmur rose from the crowd below. "You told me to come here," she continued, "and I don't forget it. Let me introduce Signor Carella!" Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who might eventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly did not seem so then.
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