“I couldn’t stand that,” she said finally.
“No!” Madame nodded approval. “No! you could not. They live in a bad way, the Italians. They do not know the English home—never. They don’t like it. Nor do they know the Swiss clean and proper house. No. They don’t understand. They run into their holes to sleep or to shelter, and that is all.”
“The same in Italy?” said Alvina.
“Even more—because there it is sunny very often—”
“And you don’t need a house,” said Alvina. “I should like that.”
“Yes, it is nice—but you don’t know the life. And you would be alone with people like animals. And if you go to Italy he will beat you—he will beat you—”
“If I let him,” said Alvina.
“But you can’t help it, away there from everybody. Nobody will help you. If you are a wife in Italy, nobody will help you. You are his property, when you marry by Italian law. It is not like England. There is no divorce in Italy. And if he beats you, you are helpless—”
“But why should he beat me?” said Alvina. “Why should he want to?”
“They do. They are so jealous. And then they go into their ungovernable tempers, horrible tempers—”