“Is she ill then?”
“Her head aches. It wants to be amused.”
Peppina was uncomfortably aware that she had said too much once more. She yawned intentionally, flinging her arms over her head. “Diamine, I could sleep myself,” she added drowsily, but looking at Nina through half-closed lids.
“Well, sleep—sleep if you will. There is nothing to be done—not so much as a ricotta making in this nest of owls,” said Nina, waving Taormina away from her with disdain. “You will wake in time to see Cesare.”
“Cesare!” Peppina started up as if struck with a whip. “What do you say?”
“Did you not know he was here? Then I am wiser than you, for once. He should have been to see you before—a pretty girl like you! But there—those men!” Nina shook her head sympathetically. “There is the Cianchetti, of course.”
“Hold your tongue! If he is here, he will come, beyond a doubt!” cried the girl, eyeing her furiously, and panting to acknowledge that she had passed an hour with her lover the evening before. “The Cianchetti! A creature like that!”
“A creature, as you say, but then she is pretty. And that he should be here and not tell you!”
Nina held up her hands, perfectly aware of what was struggling in Peppina’s breast, and amused at her easy victory.
“I tell you he will come!” exclaimed the girl breathlessly.