“By the Egg, I will not promise! Do you think I don’t know this is my birthday? Suppose the ship went down? I should have to live and die a bachelor.”
“Promise at least that you will marry no one for three months.”
“Ma che? What nonsense is this? Are you afraid of the Napolitana? Bah! How foolish you are! A fine woman, yes. But do you think I don’t know what I am about?”
“Promise for three months.”
“Si, si, if you wish it; but it is all grand nonsense.”
“Do you know what I am going to do in Italy?” she asked, with an essay at archness that was a sorry failure.
“Hunt a husband?” he chuckled.
“No; a wife.”
“What shall you do with her?” he asked gravely, scenting the truth.
“Bring her to you, my brother.”