"It was not a letter," said Silvio, "it was only a—a memorandum—written on a scrap of paper. A thing of no importance, Giacinta."
"I am glad it was of no importance," returned Giacinta, not caring to press her original question. "Do you know who she is?" she added.
"I think," answered Silvio, carelessly, "that she must be the lady who comes to teach the princess's daughter."
"Step-daughter," corrected Giacinta, dryly.
"Of course—step-daughter—I had forgotten. Do you know, Giacinta," he continued, "that we shall be very late for breakfast?"
It was a silent affair, that breakfast. The professor had been occupied the whole of the morning in correcting the proofs of a new scientific treatise, and he had even brought to the table some diagrams which he proceeded to study between the courses. Silvio's handsome face wore a thoughtful and worried expression, and Giacinta was engrossed with her own reflections.
Presently Professor Rossano broke the silence. He was eating asparagus, and it is not easy to eat asparagus and verify diagrams at the same time.
"Silvio," he said, mildly, "may one ask whether it is true that you have fallen in love?"
Silvio started, and looked at his father with amazement. Then he recovered himself.
"One may ask it, certainly," he replied, "but—"