"Poor child! I'm afraid it's Grannie's purse that isn't strong enough," said the leading light in the little community.
"I believe they're reg'lar church mice for poverty, in spite of the airs my lady gives herself," said Lady Jones. "If it was me, and money was an objick, I wouldn't pretend to be exclusive, and waste ten lire a day on a salon. I don't mind poverty, and I don't mind pride—but pride and poverty together is more than I can stand."
The other ladies agreed. Pride was a vice that could only be allowed where there was wealth to sustain it. Only one timid spinster objected.
"Lady Felicia was a Disbrowe," she said meekly, "and the Disbrowes are one of the oldest families in England."
Vera had to promise to take tea with the Signorina at five o'clock that afternoon before Giulia would let her go.
"I am not allowed to put my nose out of doors after tea," Giulia said, not in a complaining tone, but with light laughter. "People are so absurd about me, especially this person," putting her hand in her father's and smiling up at him, "just because of my winter cough—as if almost everybody has not a winter cough. Promise! A riverderci, cara Signorina."
Vera promised, and this time she was allowed to go.
Mario Provana went with her, and carried her basket.
He did not say a word till they had passed beyond the belt of pepper trees that screened the lawn, and then he began to walk very slowly, and looked earnestly at Vera.