'Look here, my small friend,—oh, your name is Palmira, is it? Very well, then; look here, Palmira. Did no body ever explain to you that one is not allowed in this world to repeat what other people say until one is old enough to know better? No? Well, then, remember that. No girl is ever allowed to have her own way until she is old enough to do mischief. And now, look here.' He drew a ring off his finger, a plain band of gold set with a large turquoise. 'Do you think that is pretty?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Very pretty?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well, then,—under the circumstances,—do you think if we asked Sor Drea, you and I, to let us give it to Italia, because it is her birthday, and because I have not brought her any other present, do you think he would let us do it, Palmira? Here, take the ring and ask him.'
Italia put down her guitar and stood up. She gave one rapid glance at Dino, and turned very pale. 'The Signor Marchese is too kind, father. Indeed, I do not want the ring. It is—it is too beautiful for me. I should lose it.'
'Nay,' said Drea simply, 'since the signor Marchese wishes to give it to you, child——' He turned the bauble over curiously upon the curved and hardened palm of his hand. 'Craving your pardon, signor Gasparo, but is it gold?'
Gasparo put his hand up to his mouth and twisted his moustache to conceal a smile. 'Certainly,' he said.
'Real gold? Diamine! it is not often that I've handled it. And that little blue thing there in the middle, has that got a name of its own?'
''Tis a turquoise. They are said to bring good luck and happiness,' the young man said carelessly enough. And then he looked with a certain reproach at Italia. 'If I had known I might have found you something that would have pleased you better——'