"I don't know. Olimpia knows. There was a Monna Nanna we were to live with, I think. But Olimpia will decide. I must do as she wishes."
"But why?"
"She is older than I am—two years. Besides I always have. And my mother commanded it."
"Your last appears to me the only reason worth a thought. Do you not want to know what I think of it, Bellaroba?" He bent his head towards her. Her answer, the flutter of a quick little kiss, pleased him. "Well, I will tell you," said he. "I think we should be married at once—this very minute. I do indeed."
"Oh!" said Bellaroba, blushing beautifully.
"I can see that you are pleased at this, my dear," Angioletto said, looking at her. They were head for head level, these children. "But what would Olimpia say?"
Bellaroba paused for strength to tell the painful truth.
"She would say 'Fiddlesticks,' Angioletto."
Angioletto frowned. "Ah! what is to be done?" he asked.
Bellaroba looked down, plucked at her skirt, saw Angioletto's hand peeping round her waist. It seemed difficult to say, and yet what she did say was very simple: "We have not asked Olimpia, you know."