“Some men do take it very ’ard!”
Words failed us. We could not reason upon such a point of view.
At the bottom of the garden the “little cot,” as Mrs. Adam calls it, which she and her husband have made so pretty, has been the scene of a similar domestic event which makes the contrast still more poignant. A little Eve, in fact, has been born into our small garden of Eden. She has received a joyful welcome. That most attractive child, black-eyed Adam Junior, with the mysterious intuition of childhood had recently been bombarding heaven for a little sister. He is now thrilled and triumphant at the success of his prayers. We personally are quite pleased with the addition to the famiglia.
We wonder whether it is because of the Italian atmosphere that has so unaccountably descended on Villino Loki that we and our establishment are really falling into relations not unlike those which so happily subsist between master and servant in Italy. The Master is not master, but Father-in-chief; the servant are not servants, but members of his family—the famiglia.
We were afraid our last winter in Rome had spoilt us for English ways. We had a delightful famiglia there. Fioravanti di Rienzo, the pearl of cooks; Camillo Lanti, the clever, busy, and quite reasonably peculating butler; and Aristide ‹surname unknown›, the superb coachman, all begged with tears to come back to England with us.
“Take but a postcard,” cried Camillo, “and write upon it ‘Camillo, come,’ and instantly I start.”
“Will ever anyone drive the Excellencies as I drive them?” Aristide demanded. “I would learn the ways of Londra in a day—two days. To learn the ways of Londra, that would be nothing; but to drive another family, that I feel I cannot ever again!”
A FEARFUL DREAM