“We care a great deal for that which is really beautiful; most of all when it is fresh and new.”
“Ah! that’s what Mr. Hawberk says—I am all the better because I am not highly trained like other singers. My ignorance is my strength.”
“But she has worked,” interposed la Zia; “ah! how hard she has worked! At her piano; at the English language. She has such a strong will. She has but to make up her mind, and the thing is done.”
“One can read as much, Signora, in those flashing eyes; in that square brow and firmly moulded chin,” said Sefton, putting down his hat and cane, and establishing himself in one of the prettily draped basket-chairs. “And pray how did it happen that you two ladies made up your minds to seek your fortunes in London?”
“It was the impresario who brought us. We were at Milan, and we came to London to sing in the chorus at Covent Garden. It was good fortune which brought us so far from home.”
“And you hate London, no doubt, after Italy?”
“No, indeed, Signor. London is a city to love—the wide, wide streets; the big, big houses; the great squares—ah! the Piazza is nothing to your square of Trafalgar—and the shops, the beautiful shops! Your sky is often gloomy, but there are summer days—heavenly days—when the wind blows down to the sea, and sweeps all the darkness out of the heavens, and your sky grows blue, like Italy. Those are days to remember.”
“True! They are rare enough to be counted on the fingers of one hand,” answered Sefton, stooping to take hold of the boy, who had been pursuing his kitten on all-fours, and had this moment plunged between Sefton’s legs to extract the animated ball of white fluff from under his chair. He felt nothing but aversion for the handsome, dark-eyed brat; but he felt that he must take some notice of the creature, if he wanted to stand well with the mother.
“Che sta facendo, padroncino?”
The boy was friendly, and explained himself in a torrent of broken speech. The cat was a bad cat, and wouldn’t stay with him. Would the Signor make him stay? Sefton had to stoop and risk a scratching from the tiny claws, in a vain endeavour to get hold of the rebellious beast, which rolled away from him, hissing and spitting, and finally scampered across the room and took refuge behind the piano. Sefton lifted the boy on to his knee, and produced his watch, that unfailing object of interest to infancy, usually denominated, on the principle of all slang nomenclature, “tick-tick.” Once interested in the opening and shutting of the “tick-tick,” Paolo sat on the visitor’s knee, comme un image, and allowed Sefton to talk to Lisa and her aunt.