“Oh! I think English quite as musical as Italian,” replied the young woman with composure.
“When you speak it, signorina,” said the Italian, after a momentary pause of astonishment.
“I find the phrases and words I learned in music very useful,” she continued. “The other day I said ‘allegro, ma non troppo,’ to the coachman, and he drove perfectly. That is on millions of pieces of music, you know, papa. It quite pleased me to talk to a coachman as if he were a fugue. And when I said ‘andante,’ he actually put down the brake.”
“But you know we were going down-hill then, Bella,” remarked her sister.
“I can make the servants understand perfectly well,” continued Isabel. “But in churches and galleries, and catacombs, and such places, the people are very stupid.”
This is the way in which Miss Isabel Varney made the servants understand perfectly:
“Angelina,” she would say to the donna, in English, “I want you to black my thick walking-boots. The dust has made them look dingy. But first bring me another pitcher of water. It is strange that in a city that would be a lake if all its aqueducts were to burst at once one cannot get more than a quart of water at a time. Make haste, now, for I wish to go out immediately.”
Angelina stood immovable, a picture of distressful doubt. The time had gone past when she would have ventured to remind her mistress that English had not been included in her education.
“Oh! to be sure,” says Isabel. “What a bother it is when one is in a hurry! What is the Italian for water, Bianca? Acqua? Well, Angelina, bring me some acqua.”
The donna began to lift her apron toward her eyes.