re
than one time--"

"But," said Alvina, laughing ruefully. "He can't rise much because
of me, can he?"

"How not? How not? In the first place, you are English, and he
thinks to rise by that. Then you are not of the lower class, you are
of the higher class, the class of the masters, such as employ Ciccio
and men like him. How will he not rise in the world by you? Yes, he
will rise very much. Or he will draw you down, down--Yes, one or
another. And then he thinks that now you have money--now your father
is dead--" here Madame glanced apprehensively at the closed
door--"and they all like money, yes, very much, all Italians--"

"Do they?" said Alvina, scared. "I'm sure there won't _be_ any
money. I'm sure father is in debt."

"What? You think? Do you? Really? Oh poor Miss Houghton! Well--and
will you tell Ciccio that? Eh? Hein?"

"Yes--certainly--if it matters," said poor Alvina.

"Of course it matters. Of course it matters very much. It matters to
him. Because he will not have much. He saves, saves, saves, as they
all do, to go back to Italy and buy a piece of land. And if he has
you, it will cost him much more, he cannot continue with
Natcha-Kee-Tawara. All will be much more difficult--"

"Oh, I will tell him in time," said Alvina, pale at the lips.

"You will tell him! Yes. That is better. And then you will see. But
he is obstinate--as a mule. And if he will still have you, then you
must think. Can you live in England as the wife of a labouring man,
a dirty Eyetalian, as they all say? It is serious. It is not
pleasant for you, who have not known it. I also have not known it.
But I have seen--" Alvina watched with wide, troubled eyes, while
Madame darted looks, as from bright, deep black glass.

"Yes," said Alvina. "I should hate being a labourer's wife in a
nasty little house in a street--"

"In a house?" cried Madame. "It would not be in a house. They live
many together in one house. It would be two rooms, or even one room,
in another house with many people not quite clean, you see--"

Alvina shook her head.

"I couldn't stand that," she said finally.

"No!" Madame nodded approval. "No! you could not. They live in a bad
way, the Italians. They do not know the English home--never. They
don't like it. Nor do they know the Swiss clean and proper house.
No. They don't understand. They run into their holes to sleep or to
shelter, and that is all."

"The same in Italy?" said Alvina.

"Even more--because