"Nan, do you see the girl who's playing the violin?" whispered Wenny. "That's the girl I meant. She's lovely, isn't she?"
"Wenny, you are seeing things through the Orvieto, but she is beautiful."
"It's her lips and chin that are rather like yours."
"Musician's lips," said Fanshaw a little pompously. "Do you like those little snippets of veal, Nan? I don't. Too much garlic. We'll taste it for a week."
"Why it's fine," cried Wenny uproariously. "It'll put hair on your chest."
"I wonder," Nan was speaking slowly, "I wonder if that could be the girl Fitzie was telling me about. I rather think Fitzie said she looked like that."
"Who?"
"The violinist ... Must be a month ago I met Fitzie one day all excited about something. Poor Fitzie does take life so hard. She told me a long cock and bull story that ended by impressing me a great deal about a girl in the Fadettes ..."
At the mention of the Fadettes, Wenny laughed himself red in the face.
"Children should be seen and not heard, Wenny," went on Nan in an even amused voice. "About a girl in the Fadettes who eloped with an Italian boy and how his wife went round to the theatre dragging a lot of squalling brats and made a fearful scene. Fitzie couldn't understand how anyone could wreck their chances of a career like that. It would be wonderful if this were the girl."