Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that
she was marrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the
good qualities of her betrothed, she abruptly introduced the
subject of pallone, in which, it appeared, he was a
proficient player. He suddenly became shy and developed a
conceited grin--the grin of the village yokel whose cricket
score is mentioned before a stranger. Philip himself had
loved to watch pallone, that entrancing combination of
lawn-tennis and fives. But he did not expect to love it
quite so much again.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Lilia, "the poor wee fish!"

A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of
the purple quivering beef they were trying to swallow.
Signor Carella, with the brutality so common in Italians,
had caught her by the paw and flung her away from him. Now
she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying to hook out
the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large
glass stopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture
with it.

"But may not the fish die?" said Miss Abbott. "They
have no air."

"Fish live on water, not on air," he replied in a
knowing voice, and sat down. Apparently he was at his ease
again, for he took to spitting on the floor. Philip glanced
at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. She talked bravely