“That is true,” said Paolo, dissembling, with a broad smile of affection, the sensations produced by the slap upon his shoulders which Harry was in the habit of administering, and which he was too polite, too devoted, to complain of. Paolo had a keen pang of disappointment too to have been thus interrupted while he felt he was making such progress with the beautiful young Englishwoman; but he was too sweet-tempered to resent it. He winced under the blow, but he smiled all the same. “That is true,” he said; “but, amico mio, if you could but learn what it is to pronounce two vowels in the Italian! Mees Joscelyn must know that my friend Oliver, he is in Italia for ten years, and still he cannot do justice to two vowels. Will the Signorina make me the pleasure to pronounce my name?--Paolo. Pao-lo, broad, like this--ow. He will never catch it, he is so true an Englishman; but Mees Joscelyn will say it--ah, perfectly!” cried Paolo, clapping his hands together, and once more throwing himself into that adoring attitude; “thanks a thousand times; that is to make music of my poor little name.” At this both the Englishmen made a step forward, and stood tall and frowning like sentinels on either side of her, glooming down upon the little Italian, thrown forward almost upon his knees, with his clasped hands half way over the table, and rapture in his big, beautiful eyes. The scene roused Lydia in spite of herself. She was only a girl after all, and this conflict of emotion around her, the demonstrative adoration on one side, the furious defence on the other, which was quite as great a compliment, amused her, and gave her a little thrill of pleasure. Both Harry and Lionel, however, were much disgusted to perceive that, instead of being indignant and offended by Paolo’s demonstration, she was at the least amused, and perhaps pleased. This made them more angry than ever. “The vowel may add softness,” said Lionel, in a tone of irritation; “but I don’t think that is any advantage, at least in a man’s name. In that a little abruptness, a bold conclusion, is desirable, not a liquid _a_ or _o_.” “You want English for that,” said Harry; “these foreign beggars (I beg your pardon, Paolo) are all for airs and graces. I suppose I can’t get my mouth about them; though to tell the truth I don’t see any difference between my pronunciation and Miss Joscelyn’s.” “It is true,” said Paolo, “there is a sound in both your voices--what you call it--a tone. You have in brief, by the way, the same voice--that is strange. Mr. Brotherton, he is in a different key; but you, that is a great compliment for you, amico, you are in the same note with Mees Joscelyn. She will speak perfectly, perfectly! the Italian, and you no. Oh, you no! nevare,” said Paolo with a laugh, clapping his hands; “but nevertheless it is true you are in the same tone.”