rebuke. She shook her finger at him.

"Ah, the Signorino gave me a fine fright," she said.

"A thousand regrets," said Peter. "Now be a succouring angel,
and make a clean breast of it. Who is my landlady?"

Marietta drew back a little. Her brown old visage wrinkled up,
perplexed.

"Who is the Signorino's landlady?" she repeated.

"Ang," said he, imitating the characteristic nasalised eh of
Italian affirmation, and accompanying it by the characteristic
Italian jerk of the head.

Marietta eyed him, still perplexed--even (one might have
fancied) a bit suspicious.

"But is it not in the Signorino's lease?" she asked, with
caution.

"Of course it is," said he. "That's just the point. Who is
she?"

"But if it is in your lease!" she expostulated.

"All the more reason why you should make no secret of it," he
argued plausibly. "Come! Out with it! Who is my landlady?"