"What?" questioned the Commendatore, blinking at her.
"If he says yes, I 'll say no. If he says no, he says no. So it is no, either way," she pointed out. "And meanwhile—the launch is waiting."
"If he says no!" scoffed the Commendatore. "Is the man born who will say no to a bag of gold?"
"That's exactly what you have now an opportunity of discovering," she replied. "But if he says yes, I give you my solemn promise, it will be the end of him, so far as I 'm concerned."
The Commendatore rubbed the back of his neck.
"I never heard such a gallimaufry of headless and tailless nonsense," he declared.
"Think of that poor long-suffering launch," said Susanna. "You are still keeping it waiting."
"It may wait till the sea dries up, for all of me," said the
Commendatore, settling himself in his seat. "Do you take me for
Pulcinella? I will not begin at my time of life to play carnival
tricks."
"Ah, well, after all," said Susanna, "it does n't really matter very much."
And apparently she abandoned her intention. But after a pause she added, rather as if speaking to herself, "I must send for Father Angelo, I suppose."