Signor Giuseppe’s long thin fingers were busy, as Minna saw, among the plates and dishes. She instinctively drew a little back, but interest and curiosity tied her to the spot. She knew that he was writhing under the infliction. Wonderful to relate, the Pearl had no exception to take to any of the details of her bill. ‘Wee,’ she remarked. ‘C’est jooste. My dear, have you your purse? I want a hundred and twenty lire.’ Then, turning once more to Giuseppe, with affable condescension: ‘Nous partongs a ongze oor. Voulez-vous commingday oon voitoor poor nous, at ayay soing que tous les malles sont ong bah de bonne oor.’ ‘Non, madame, ce n’est pas mon métier a moi de commander des voitures pour les voyageurs. Vous pouvez vous addresser au facchino,’ was the reply, in a voice quivering with suppressed fury. ‘Commong?’ asked the lady inquiringly, not understanding this rapid flow of words and at the same time she handed him notes for the hundred and twenty lire. ‘Merci,’ said he with a haughty bow, as he swept the last piece of crockery on to the tray with a trembling hand, and added: ‘I will at once give you the receipt.’ Leaving the tray on the table for Ettore to remove, he came out into the hall, where pen and ink were always to be found. Minna made a hasty movement to go away, but it was too late. Signor Giuseppe’s movements were not slow. He was out of the room and confronting her in an instant. For one or two seconds they faced each other, Minna wishing that the ground would open beneath her and swallow her up, Signor Giuseppe very pale and very erect. At last he said in a low voice: ‘Signora.’ ‘Signore,’ she began, but he interrupted her, saying in an icy voice: ‘You are earlier than usual this morning. Can I do anything for you?’ ‘I--I wonder if Miss Scotson is there,’ said Minna confusedly, as with a great effort she walked past him into the dining-room and looked round. Miss Scotson was not there, and Minna had lost all desire to speak to her. Shaking her head, she came out of the room, giving an embarrassed, timid glance to where at one side of the hall Signor Giuseppe was writing out the receipt for the Scotch Pearl and her husband. She longed to speak to him, but dared not be the first; he took absolutely no notice of her as she went rapidly away out of the hall door, down the steps and out, in the direction of her studio, but almost unconscious of what she was doing. ‘Why did I go? What a fool I was! Why did I stand by the door when I saw him there?... But why should it matter? If he can do the work of a waiter before half a dozen others, why cannot he do it before me?’ She reached her studio, thus pondering, and tried to forget it all in her work.