After a pause: "When you were coming toward the shore, I heard them
calling after you. 'Good-morning, l'Arrabiata!' they said. What made
them call you so? It is not a nice name for a young Christian
maiden, who should be meek and mild."

The young girl's brown face glowed all over, while her eyes flashed
fire.

"They always mock me so, because I do not dance and sing, and stand
about to chatter, as other girls do. I might be left in peace, I
think; I do THEM no harm."

"Nay, but you might be civil. Let others dance and sing, on whom
this life sits lighter; but a kind word now and then is seemly even
from the most afflicted."

Her dark eyes fell, and she drew her eyebrows closer over them, as
if she would have hidden them.

They went on a while in silence. The sun now stood resplendent above
the mountain chain; only the tip of Mount Vesuvius towered beyond
the group of clouds that had gathered about its base; and on the
Sorrento plains the houses were gleaming white from the dark green
of their orange-gardens.

"Have you heard no more of that painter, Laurella?" asked the
curato--"that Neapolitan, who wished so much to marry you?" She
shook her head." He came to make a picture of you. Why would you not
let him?"