She spoke in English herself; but his answer was in French.
‘Madame flatters me!’
‘Stuff and nonsense! I never flatter anybody. Anyone can see by your face that you can understand every word that passes.’
‘Pardon, Madame——’
‘And what’s more,’ continued Miss Marjory relentlessly, ‘I don’t believe you’re an Italian at all!’
‘Mais, Madame——’
‘Now don’t be affected, and don’t tell me lies. If you don’t choose to speak the truth, you’d better keep quiet. I detest mysteries and heroics! Why can’t you speak out at once, and say who you are, and what you’ve come for?’
Signor Pagliadini looked tremendously taken aback by this sudden and most unexpected attack. He was silent, and the little deprecatory shrug he gave, foreign as it was, produced no impression upon Miss Marjory.
‘I believe he’s an Englishman,’ she said to herself. ‘A foreigner would always have something to say. No Frenchman nor Italian would be shut up like that, nor take an accusation so quietly. Who in the world can he be? Can some family lawyer have got an inkling of the truth, and have sent a spy into the camp? I don’t believe lawyers out of novels do things like that. I wonder if the Belassis party are at the bottom of it? I begin to think they must be. Well, I will make it warm for them if they are troublesome.’
With her most agreeable smile, Miss Marjory now looked across at her opposite neighbour.