He rose, casting a last glance towards the castle.

Towers and battlements . . .
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes."

He repeated the lines in an undertone, and went in to dinner.
And then the restorative spirit of nonsense descended upon him.

"Marietta," he asked, "what is your attitude towards the
question of mixed marriages?"

Marietta wrinkled her brow.

"Mixed marriages? What is that, Signorino?"

"Marriages between Catholics and Protestants," he explained.

"Protestants?" Her brow was still a network. "What things are
they?"

"They are things--or perhaps it would be less invidious to say
people--who are not Catholics--who repudiate Catholicism as a
deadly and soul-destroying error."

"Jews?" asked Marietta.

"No--not exactly. They are generally classified as Christians.
But they protest, you know. Protesto, protestare, verb,