"What?" demanded Giacomo.

"A man is ill," repeated Daphne firmly. She had written it out,
and she knew that it was right.

"Her mind wanders," Giacomo hinted to his wife.

"No, no, no! It's the Signorina herself," cried Assunta, whose
wits were quicker than her husband's. "She is saying that she is
ill. What is it, Signorina mia? Is it your head, or your back,
or your stomach? Are you cold? Have you fever?"

"Si," answered Daphne calmly. The answer that usually quieted
Assunta failed now. Then she tried the smile. That also failed.

"Tell me," pleaded Assunta, speaking twice as fast as usual, in
order to move the Signorina's wits to quicker understanding. "If
the Signorina is ill the Contessa will blame me. It is measles
perhaps; Sor Tessa's children have it in the village." She felt
of the girl's forehead and pulse, and stood more puzzled than
before.

"The Signorina exaggerates, perhaps?" she remarked in
question.

"Thank you!" said Daphne beseechingly.

That was positively her last shot, and if it missed its aim she
knew not what to do. She saw that the two brown faces before her