to cause a scandal, but that he must separate from his wife if Civilla
will not reform in the matter of the dinner-hour. "He is getting old,"
Bernardini says, "and his digestion suffers." No man keeps a French
cook to be kept waiting for his dinner.

Luisa, who looks the picture of innocence, wears an unexceptionable
pink dress, with a train that bodes ill-luck, and many apologies, to
her partners. A long train is Luisa's little game. (Spite of Civilla,
she has many other little games.) Fragments of the train fly about the
room all the evening, and admirers take care that she shall see
these picked up, fervently kissed, and stowed away as relics in
breast-pockets. One enthusiast pinned his fragment to his shoulder,
like an order--a knight of San Luisa, he called himself.

Teresa Ottolini, with her mother, has just arrived. Being single,
Teresa either is, or affects to be, excessively steady; no one would
marry her if she were not--not even the good-natured Orsetti. Your
Italian husband _in futuro_ will pardon nothing in his wife that
may be--not even that her dress should be conspicuous, much less
her manners. Neither is it expedient that she should be seen much
in society. That dangerous phalanx of "golden youth" are ever on the
watch, "gentlemen sportsmen," to a man; their sport, woman. If she
goes out much these "golden youth" might compromise her. Less than
a breath upon a maiden's name is social death. That name must not be
coupled with any man's--not coupled even in lightest parlance. So the
lady waits, waits until she has a husband--it is more piquant to be
a naughty wife than a fast miss--then she makes her choice--one, or
a dozen--it is a matter of taste. Danger is added to vice; and that
element of intrigue dear to the Italian soul, both male and female.
The _jeunesse dorée_ delight in mild danger--a duel with swords,