“Signor Vasari! I hate him!” cried Violante. “Rosa, I will be good—I will act—I will sing—but I will not hear of Signor Vasari. If he kissed me, I would kill him!”
“For shame, Violante, that is a very improper way of speaking. Oh, my child, will you promise me to be good?”
Violante did not answer. Was there a secret rebellion in the heart that had always given Rosa back love for love?
“Violante mia—you don’t think me unkind to you?”
Violante looked up and smiled, and taking Rosa’s face between her two little hands, covered it with sweet, fond kisses.
“Rosa, carissima mia, shall you do anything?”
“No,” said Rosa, considering. “I think not. If you will be a good child, and steady—now father will be coming back.”
“Oh, you will not tell him?”
“No, no—certainly not; but you have not practised.”
“I could not sing a note!”