“And so they are very kind to you?” she said.
“They are as kind as angels,” said Violante, “and there is no one like Miss Florence except you.”
Rosa laughed, and Violante went on, rather hurriedly:
“And our cousins,—how are they? And your pupils—are they stupid? How far have they got in Italian?”
“Not very far,” said Rosa; “and that’s the first question you ever asked me about a pupil in your life.”
“But I teach a great deal of the Italian. Miss Florence showed me how. And father—will he come soon?”
“Yes. I’m afraid, Violante, he has not found much to do in Florence. I shall be glad when he comes to London, because I think he is likely to get engagements.”
“Does he know anyone in London?” asked Violante.
“Well—there is a gentleman who comes a good deal to Uncle Grey’s,” said Rosa, colouring a little. “He is not exactly a professional musician; but he loves music better than anything, and he has composed some things—they’re very good, I think. He said he would ensure some engagements for father. So we shall get some nice little lodgings near the Greys. I know some that would do for us, and when you come, darling—it will be home again.”
“And father is coming?”