"The arrangimento," I suggested softly.
"Indeed, yes. There is also the seat of the family."
"The seat of the family," I repeated. "Oh—the family seat. Of course, being a Count, you have a castle. They always go together. I had forgotten."
"A castle I cannot say, but for the country it is very well. It is not amusing there, in Tuscany. It is a little out of repairs. Twice a year I go to see my mother and all those brothers and sisters—it is enough! And the Countess, my mother, has said to me two hundred times, 'Marry with an Americaine, Nicco—it is my command.' 'Nicco,' she calls me—it is what you call jack-name."
The Count smiled deprecatingly, and looked at me with a great deal of sentiment, twisting his moustache. Another pause ensued. It's all very well to say I should have dismissed him long before this, but I should like to know on what grounds?
"I wish very much to write my mother that I have found the American lady for a new Countess Filgiatti," he said at last with emotion.
"Well," I said awkwardly, "I hope you will find her."
"Ah, Mees Wick," exclaimed the Count recklessly, "you are that American lady. When I saw you in the railway I said, 'It is my vision!' At once I desired to embrace the papa. And he was not cold with me—he told me of the soda. I had courage, I had hope. At first when I see you to-day I am a little derange. In the Italian way I speak first with the papa. Then came a little thought in my heart—no, it is propitious! In America the daughter maka always her own arrangimento. So I am spoken."
At this I rose immediately. I would not have it on my conscience that I toyed with the matrimonial proposition of even an Italian Count.
"I think I understand you, Count Filgiatti," I said—There is something about the most insignificant proposal that makes one blush in a perfectly absurd way. I have never been able to get over it—"and I fear I must bring this interview to a close. I——"