Dino looked at him for a moment in silence. Then the boy's face flushed scarlet, and his eyes filled with tears.
'It can't mean anything,' he said desperately. 'My—my father would never have brought me here if he did not mean to pay for it.' But he did not look at his father, who was arguing eagerly across the table with his opposite neighbour, and there was a lump in his throat which seemed to choke him as he spoke.
'What, are you Olinto's little chap? Is De Rossi your father? And what's your name, then? What do you call yourself, my little lad?' the stranger asked good-naturedly.
'My name is Bernardo. But they call me Dino at home,' the boy said, rather huskily.
'Well, then, Dino, my boy, eat your supper, and don't trouble your head about what doesn't concern you. Your share of it shall be paid for, never fear. Now then, what's the matter now? Don't sit and stare at your father. He won't notice you. He's—busy. If you are wise you'll tell me what you want,' he repeated, with the same equivocal smile.
There was something in his kind and melancholy face which had won the boy's entire confidence. 'I am afraid, sir—— I don't think my father has got enough money with him,' he said hastily, with burning cheeks and downcast eyes. When he ventured to look up he met his neighbour's glance fixed full upon him with a certain friendly amusement.
'So you are Olinto de Rossi's son,' he said slowly; and Dino wondered to hear him say it, for surely he knew that already. 'Well, well. Per Bacco! if the evolutionists are to be trusted, why, here's a curious experiment of Dame Nature's. Well, look here, my boy, did you ever see me before?'
'No, sir.'
'Did you ever hear your father speak of Pietro Valdez?'
'No, sir.'