‘May it sweeten some of our tempers!’ thought Minna to herself, with a furtive smile, as she saw it borne round, and all eyes anxiously fixed upon it. Unfortunately for her, it was a dish of which she had never been able to overcome her dislike--a kind of heavy pastry in the shape of a great tart, filled with an equally heavy, rich, creamy mixture, yellow in colour, and containing chopped-up almonds, sweet to sickliness. It went its round, and met with various receptions as it slowly proceeded. By the Italians it was greeted with acclamation, with gleaming eyes, and only half-suppressed murmurs of delighted appreciation; by the English with some distrust. They looked at it suspiciously; they paused, they hesitated; finally, they cut off a small piece and put it on their plates with an expression which said plainly: ‘I don’t know what you are, but I’m hungry, and I’m going to try you, at any rate.’ It had a warmer welcome from the Americans--themselves ardent lovers of ‘candies’ and pastries. The Germans took it as a matter of course--whether they liked it or not, it was part of the repast, which would have to be paid for; and a repast was needed, and must be fully discussed, in order that they might have strength for the next day’s work. They ate it, and said nothing. When it was offered to Minna, she simply refused it, and thought no more about it. She had seen it before; she had tried it, and she disliked it. In a few moments a voice from the other side of the table accosted her: ‘Signora!’ She looked up. The dish was now being handed to Signor Giuseppe. His right hand held a knife suspended over it; his eyes were fixed inquiringly upon Minna. ‘Can I not persuade you to change your mind?’ he said with dignified, old-fashioned courtesy; ‘or do you dislike sweets?’ ‘I do not like that sweet, signore,’ she replied, with an unguarded candour for which a moment afterwards she could have bitten out her tongue. ‘You do not like this sweet?’ he echoed, plunging the knife into it, and cutting off an inordinately large slice, as if to show how right-minded persons prized it. ‘Yet it is a distinctly Roman _plat_. It is celebrated.’ ‘I know,’ said Minna apologetically. ‘I am very sorry. I do not like it, and never eat it.’ ‘Dio mio!’ ejaculated Giuseppe, with another shrug, as he conveyed the huge cutlet of paste and cream to his own plate with a look of displeasure. ‘Another piece of English stupidity,’ observed Minna, smiling again. But the _dolce_ seemed to have the wished-for effect on Signor Giuseppe’s humour. He smiled benevolently, shook his head, and responded: ‘Ah yes, there are so many of them! What is one amongst the rest?’ It was, intrinsically considered, an excessively rude remark, but Minna felt it implied that her want of taste and Englishness were pardoned, and, strange to say, the conviction was quite soothing to her.