‘Uncle Howard,’ Marcia remonstrated, ‘you surely aren’t scolding the poor fellow because of to-night? What difference does it make if he does entertain his friends in the grounds of the old villa? We never go near the place.’
‘It is this particular friend I am objecting to.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Gervasio’s stepfather.’
‘Oh, you don’t suppose,’ she cried, ‘that he is trying to steal the child back again?’
‘I should like to see him do it!’ said Mr. Copley, with decision. ‘He doesn’t want the boy,’ he added. ‘What he wants is money, but he isn’t going to get any. I won’t have him hanging about the place, and the servants may as well understand it first as last.’
Marcia, having outlined her plan for the breakfast to a somewhat unresponsive Pietro, finally gained her room; and setting her candle down on the table, she dropped into the first chair she came to with a sigh of relief that the evening was over. She was tired, not only in body, but in mind as well.
The evening was not quite ended, however. A gentle tap came on the door, and she opened it to find Eleanor and Margaret in loose silk dressing-gowns. ‘Let us in quick,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ve just met a man in the hall.’
‘The ubiquitous Pietro shutting up windows,’ added Eleanor. ‘If I were you, I’d discharge that man and get a more companionable butler. It’s uncanny for an Italian servant to be as grave as an English one.’
‘Poor Pietro has just had a scolding, which, I suppose, accounts for his gravity. It’s funny,’ she added, ‘that’s exactly the advice that Paul gave me to-night.’ The ‘Paul’ was out before she could catch it, and she reddened apprehensively, but the girls let it pass without challenging.