“Si, Signora. There is trouble in our house.”
“What is it, Ruffo?”
The boy hesitated to answer. He moved his bare feet on the bridge and looked down towards the boat. Hermione did not press him, said nothing.
“Signora,” Ruffo said, at last, coming to a decision, “my Patrigno is not a good man. He makes my mamma jealous. He goes after others.”
It was the old story of the South, then! Hermione knew something of the persistent infidelities of Neapolitan men. Poor women who had to suffer them!
“I am sorry for your mother,” she said, gently. “That must be very hard.”
“Si, Signora, it is hard. My mamma was very unhappy to-day. She put her head on the table, and she cried. But that was because my Patrigno is put in prison.”
“In prison! What has he done?”
Ruffo looked at her, and she saw that the simple expression had gone out of his eyes.
“Signora, I thought perhaps you knew.”