"Che! In that case they would ask Madame Petrucci." Goneril ran on to pick some china roses. The signorino stopped confounded. "It is impossible!" he cried; "she cannot think I am in love with Giulia! She cannot think I am so old as that!" The idea seemed horrible to him. He walked on very quickly till he came to Goneril, who was busy plucking roses in a hedge. "For whom are those flowers?" he asked. "Some are for you, and some are for Madame Petrucci." "She is a charming woman, Madame Petrucci." "A dear old lady," murmured Goneril, much interested in her posy. "Old do you call her?" said the signorino rather anxiously. "I should scarcely call her that, though of course she is a good deal older than either of us." "Either of us!" Goneril looked up astounded. Could the signorino have suddenly gone mad? He blushed a little under his brown skin, that had reminded her of a coffee-bean. "She is a good ten years older than I am," he explained. "Ah well, ten years isn't much." "You don't think so?" he cried delighted. Who knows, she might not think even thirty too much. "Not at that age," said Goneril blandly. Signor Graziano could think of no reply. But from that day one might have dated a certain assumption of youthfulness in his manners. At cards it was always the signorino and Goneril against the two elder ladies; in his conversation, too, it was to the young girl that he constantly appealed, as if she were his natural companion--she, and not his friends of thirty years. Madame Petrucci, always serene and kind, took no notice of these little changes, but they were particularly irritating to Miss Prunty, who was, after all, only four years older than the signorino. That lady had, indeed, become more than usually sharp and foreboding. She received the signorino's gay effusions in ominous silence, and would frown darkly while Madame Petrucci petted her "little bird," as she called Goneril. Once indeed Miss Prunty was heard to remark it was tempting Providence to have dealings with a creature whose very name was a synonym for ingratitude. But the elder lady only smiled, and declared that her Gonerilla was charming, delicious, a real sunshine in the house. "Now I call on you to support me, signorino," she cried one evening, when the three elders sat together in the room while Goneril watered the roses on the terrace. "Is not my Goneril a charming little bebe?" Signor Graziano withdrew his eyes from the window. "Most charming, certainly; but scarcely such a child. She is seventeen, you know, my dear signora." "Seventeen! Santo Dio! And what is one at seventeen but an innocent, playful, charming little kitten?" "You are always right, madame," agreed the signorino; but he looked as if he thought she were very wrong. "Of course I am right," laughed the little lady. "Come here my Gonerilla, and hold my skein for me. Signor Graziano is going to charm us with one of his delightful airs."