"Yes, thinking, little lady; and would she like to know about what?"
"Di grazie, signore."
"Well, then, I was thinking of going to Napoli."
"A Napoli? but il mio caro signore will return; he is not going away?"
"No, carissima, I am not going away; I will take il babbo with me, and we shall be back again to-night if possible. Will your eccellenzina give me leave to go?"
"Yes," she answered, laughing merrily at the new title which he gave her; "il signore may go, as he says he will be home to-night, and"—like a true child, in Italy or elsewhere—"perhaps he will bring Anina something pretty from Napoli."
"It is not impossible that he might do so. What would her eccellenzina be pleased to wish for?"
"There are beautiful Madonne at Napoli, signore," she said timidly, "and the one I have is bruttissima,—unworthy of the Madonna who has done so much for me."
Mr. Earnscliffe pretended to be very intent on the examination of a flower which was growing at a little distance from him. He did not know how to answer the child. He felt that it was too much, not only to tolerate superstition, but actually to encourage it by giving Anina an image: and yet he did not like to disappoint her. He raised his eyes, and they met her soft liquid ones, so earnestly and pleadingly fixed on his face, that he could not bear to pain her, and he said, "You shall have your Madonna, carissima."