“No, signora.”
“Read me a piece of this,” said Miss Venning, putting a volume of Italian poetry into her hands that she might judge of her accent. Frightened as Violante was, and little as she had responded to her long technical training, she declaimed the verses in a very much more vigorous style than Miss Venning expected.
“That is very well,” she said. “You must read Italian with Miss Florence, and help her to teach her class.”
“Signora,” said Violante, emboldened by the praise, “I can knit and sew and embroider. I could teach these to the young ladies.”
“And you shall,” said Flossy, who was standing close by. “Sister, we’ll make needlework popular.”
“They are very pleasant occupations,” said Miss Venning. “Now, let me hear you play; for it will be part of your duty to overlook the little girls at their music.”
Violante played very prettily, though her fingers had comparatively been little cultivated; but she refused even to attempt to sing, flushing and trembling in a way quite inexplicable, if the Miss Vennings had known nothing of her former history.
“Well, my dear,” said Miss Venning, “you have a great deal to learn, and a little to teach. We will do our best to make you happy among us, and you on your part will, no doubt, be industrious and obedient.”
“Yes, signora,” said Violante, a good deal impressed by the profundity of Miss Venning’s manners.
“And one thing I wish you to notice. As you make friends with your companions, do not make the details of your former life a matter of conversation. You have no need to be ashamed of it; but it would excite great curiosity, and you might be questioned in a way you would not like.”