“What do you want of her?” ventured Bertino. “Some day you shall see.” CHAPTER VI CAROLINA RESOLVES TO GO COURTING UPON the facts brought out Carolina decided that Marianna would do very well. But the leap was far too hazardous to be taken in the dark, and the prudence that guided her in the selection of other household belongings she would now bring to bear in choosing a wife. If needs be, she would journey to Italy, and make sure by a close survey of Marianna that hers was not a nature likely to attempt a ruling of the roost. To the Jesuitry of her view, a wife of eighteen and a husband of gloaming forty were well mated when their union would serve her own most laudable purpose; and as for any trifling obstacle like a sweetheart, that could be filliped away. Once upon the ground, and satisfied that the girl would prove a wife of the desired brand, she had no doubt of accomplishing the shipment of the goods. But there set in a fear for the turn events might take during her absence. With the sentinel gone from the gate, Juno might charge and carry the castle. Here was a danger that must be offset. Throwing a plaid shawl over her head and not stopping to change her open-heeled house slippers, she set forth through the ruck of Mulberry for the shop of her brother. It was a novel sight to behold her hopping over curbstones in that unstately manner, and hot grew the scandalous guesses as to the cause. “Trouble, grand trouble in Casa Di Bello,” was the common voice. As Carolina hurried forward she had no eye for the signs of opening summer on every hand--the fire escapes abloom with potted verdure, the blithe touch that glistening radishes gave to the vegetable stalls, the moon face of Chiara the Basilican beaming from her bower of dandelion leaves. Passing the schoolhouse, she received a reverent bow and a low “_Buon giorno_” from the hokey-pokey man, who stood by his dazzling cart, ready for the onslaught of boys and girls, who would soon be out at recess clamouring for one-cent dabs of pink _sorbetto_ on strips of brown paper. Little maidens decked in snowy frocks and veils walked proudly to their first communion, all mindful of their skirts as they passed the racks of Boccanegra the Macaroni Baker, whose new-made paste hung drying in the sunshine; but of them Carolina took no heed, so wrapped was she in her great project of courting a suitable wife.