'Yes; that is true. Only we never had any artists in the family. It seems odd that our son should have such tendencies. None of the family were ever particularly clever in any way.'
'You are not stupid, at all events.'
Corona smiled at her husband. For all the world, she would not have had him at all different from his present self.
'Besides,' she added, 'you need not think of him as an artist. You can look upon him as a priest.'
'Yes, I know,' answered Giovanni, without much enthusiasm. 'We never were a priest-breeding family either. We have done better at farming than at praying or playing the piano. Ippolito does not know a plough from a harrow, nor a thoroughbred colt from a cart-horse. For my part I do not see the strength you find in him, though I daresay you are right, my dear. You generally are. At all events, he helps the harmony of the family, for he worships Orsino, and the two younger ones always pair together.'
'I suppose he will never be put into any position which can show his real character,' said Corona, 'but I know I am right.'
They were silent for a few minutes. Presently Giovanni took up his paper again, and Corona sat down at her table to write a note. The rain pattered against the window, cheerfully, as it does outside a room in which two happy people are together.
'That d'Oriani girl is charming,' said Corona, after writing a line or two, but not looking round.
'Perhaps Orsino will fall in love with her,' observed her husband, his eyes on the newspaper.