“You be good child; if the lady yours will, I take you to the theatre after to-morrow, for gratitude. To me you show of bounty, I to you of thanks. There be grand sight at the theatre which will please to you. Show the Signora yours this letter mine, and ask if permission. It will much please to me to make festa for my little good Lessee. There be none word in English for festa, for because the English not know to make it. “DOMENICO.” “But, Lizzie,” cried I, in surprise, “there is nothing in this to cry about. He only means to be kind, poor fellow. There is not a word in all this that sounds like----” Love-making, I was about to have said, but paused, partly in respect for the innocence of the girl, and partly ashamed of myself for my instinctive suspicion that flirtation was inevitable when “a foreigner,” however fat, was in the case. Lizzy had wiped her eyes and was looking at me wistfully, quite ready to sob again. “Oh, it’s no him,” cried Lizzie; “he’s a papist, puir man, and he doesna ken ony better. But oh, mem, it’s me--me that was weel brought up, and learned the catechism and ay gaed to the kirk; and what will I do? what will I do?” “For pity’s sake, Lizzie, tell me what is the matter?” cried I, really alarmed. Lizzie burst into tears once more. She wiped her eyes with her apron, with hot and humid hands; then, casting a pathetic glance at me from under the drapery, sobbed forth the dreadful confession, “Oh, mem! though I think burning shame, and ken it’s dreadful, I canna help it--I would like to gang!”