What did it all mean? Had he run off with some one else's wife, or was he in debt? One of the two seemed to be the natural conclusion. Anyhow, he did not want to know the fellow's name. He had only asked out of politeness, and if he were in any sort of scrape, perhaps it would be better not to know it.
"I tell you what," the Englishman explained, in the midst of the other's hesitating pause, "don't tell it me! I can call you anything you like for this evening. I daresay we I sha'n't meet afterwards, and if you want to keep it dark about your being here, why, then, I sha'n't be able to give you away—by accident, of course. Come, I'll call you anything you like. Choose your name for the night!"
The Sicilian shook his head slowly.
"You have been told my name when I had the honor of being presented to you at Rome," he said, "and at any chance mention you might recall it. I prefer to tell it to you, and rely upon your honor."
"As you like."
"My name is Leonardo di Marioni!"
"By Jove! of course it is!" the Englishman exclaimed. "I should have thought of it in a moment. I remember Davenport made me laugh when he introduced us. His pronunciation's so queer, you know, and he's only been at Rome about a month, so he hasn't had time to pick it up. Good old Cis! he was always a dunce! I suppose his uncle got him in at the Embassy."
"No doubt," the Sicilian answered politely. "I have only had the pleasure of meeting your cousin once or twice, and I know him but slightly. You will not forget my request, and if you have occasion to address me, perhaps you will be so good as to do so by the name of 'Cortegi.' It is the name by which I am known here, and to which I have some right."
The Englishman nodded.
"All right. I'll remember. By the bye," he went on, "I had the pleasure of meeting your sister in Naples, I believe. She is engaged to marry Martin Briscoe, isn't she?"