"A fine vintage this year. The signore has without doubt seen our vintage? No? Is it possible? Then he will do so this September. The padrona's grapes will be brought to be weighed next week; the signorine will take the signore to see them cut. Eh, eh, the signorina Beatrice can tell him everything. See here, she has a head as good as my own, though I say it. It is wonderful, a young girl like that, whom I have nursed on my knee many and many a time. Sometimes, when I hear her giving her orders, I stare, I cannot believe it. But then she is one of us, which explains it," added the old man with pride. "Do you mean that she is not English?" asked Jack, interested in this confirmation of the ideas which had been floating about in his head since the first moment of seeing Bice. Old Andrea shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no," he said, "not the signorina. Her father was a Capponi; she is a Capponi, anyone can see that who looks in her eyes, if the signore will excuse me for saying so. She is a Capponi all over." "But she told me she was English," said Jack, amused at the old man's indignation. "She has whims, though she is so clever," said Andrea testily. "Most of the clever ones have. Her mother is English, if you will--what of that? And possibly the _padrone_ did not treat her over well--who knows? He was a man who liked his own way, and perhaps did not much care how he got it. _Altro_! The signore knows that men are not all made in the same fashion, and the Capponi were used to being masters. At any rate, he is dead." "And his wife?" "Si, _signore_, as you see. She married again, before the stone that covers his grave up at San Miniato had time to lose its whiteness. I go there sometimes. There are not many others that remember. But as I was saying, the signora married quickly, and this time it was to a stranger--an Englishman--with two children." "Two?" "Two. There is a young man in some country of strangers, very probably it is England, and the signore has perhaps brought news of him? No? Ah, then he will see him on his return. That will delight the signorina, for she has given her heart to these newcomers. But for all that she cannot help being a Capponi, and no one can mistake her. Such a _padrona_ as she makes! Such a head, such a head! Only ask them at the _podere_ what it is like. The signore goes to Florence?" "Yes," said Jack, who had been lighting his cigar. "I suppose there is no shorter road than down this hill?" "If the signore can keep in his dog he can branch off through the vineyards to the left. I will show him the path in a moment, and it will be much quicker."