There before me stood Andrea, a very obstinate look on his face, unmindful of Annunziata's proximity and Romeo's scowls.
"As it happens, I haven't put in a stitch for the last ten minutes," I answered quietly, though my heart beat.
He drew a chair close to mine.
"You are unfair, Andrea, you are unfair," I thought, "to make things worse for Miss Meredith by singling her out in this way, when you know it makes them all so cross. Things are bad enough for her as it is, and you might forego your little bit of amusement."
I began really to stitch with unnatural industry, bending an unresponsive face over the work in my hand.
"That is very pretty," said Andrea.
"No, no, Marchesino," I thought again, "you are as good as gold, any one could see that from your eyes; but you have a little weakness, only one—'the ladies'—and you must not be encouraged."
I turned to Annunziata, who, baffled by the English speech, sat perplexed and helpless.
"Marchesina," I said aloud in Italian, "the Marchesino admires my work."