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"Now Perfetta has gone for her basket," said the little girl. "When she returns she will lower it so. Then you will put your card into it. Then she will raise it thus. By this means " When Perfetta returned, Philip remembered to ask after the baby.
Ill luck pursued her to the end. It was one of the nights when Gino happened to come in. He was in the kitchen, swearing and smashing plates, while Perfetta, her apron over her head, was weeping violently. At the sight of Lilia he turned upon her and poured forth a flood of miscellaneous abuse.
"Latte! latte freschissima! bianca come neve!" Perfetta came in with another lamp and a little jug. Gino spoke for the first time. "Put the milk on the table," he said. "It will not be wanted in the other room." The peril was over at last. A great sob shook the whole body, another followed, and then he gave a piercing cry of woe, and stumbled towards Miss Abbott like a child and clung to her.
When she woke up she knew that it had been Sawston. At about nine o'clock next morning Perfetta went out on to the loggia, not to look at the view, but to throw some dirty water at it. "Scusi tanto!" she wailed, for the water spattered a tall young lady who had for some time been tapping at the lower door. "Is Signor Carella in?" the young lady asked.
The sling was not fitted before Gino leapt up the stairs, crying "So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting " Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even tones he told what had happened; and the other, also perfectly calm, heard him to the end. In the silence Perfetta called up that she had forgotten the baby's evening milk; she must fetch it.
Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts the Miss Abbott who could travel alone to Monteriano, and the Miss Abbott who could not enter Gino's house when she got there. It was an amusing discovery. Which of them would respond to his next move? "I suppose I misunderstood Perfetta. Where did you have your interview, then?"
He had been just ripe for an interview just the right combination of indignation and acuteness: blood hot, brain cool. But nothing ever did go right in Monteriano. "When will he be back?" he called to Perfetta. It really was too bad. She did not know. He was away on business. He might be back this evening, he might not. He had gone to Poggibonsi.
"He tried to carry the baby " "But why not Gino or Perfetta?" "Philip, don't talk. Must I say it again? Don't talk. The baby wants to sleep." She crooned harshly as they descended, and now and then she wiped up the tears which welled inexhaustibly from the little eyes. Philip looked away, winking at times himself.
He found her still in the living-room, combing her hair, for she had something of the slattern in her nature, and there was no need to keep up appearances. "You must not go out alone," he said gently. "It is not safe. If you want to walk, Perfetta shall accompany you." Perfetta was a widowed cousin, too humble for social aspirations, who was living with them as factotum.
Perfetta was banging in the kitchen, and the stairs down led past the kitchen door. But the stairs up to the attic the stairs no one ever used opened out of the living-room, and by unlocking the door at the top one might slip out to the square terrace above the house, and thus for ten minutes walk in freedom and peace.
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