"Fancy,
in such beautiful weather!"
Then, remembering that two of the ladies were strangers, she made an
old-fashioned little curtsey.
"I hope you won't find me a trouble, ladies," she said.
"She is charming!" said Madame Petrucci, throwing up her hands.
Goneril blushed; her hat had slipped back and showed her short brown
curls of hair, strong, regular, features, and flexile scarlet mouth,
laughing upwards like a faun's. She had sweet dark eyes, a little too
small and narrow.
"I mean to be very happy," she exclaimed.
"Always mean that, my dear," said Miss Prunty.
"And now, since Gonerilla is no longer a stranger," added Madame
Petrucci, "we will leave her to the rustic society of Angiolino, while
we show Miss Hamelyn our orangery."
"And conclude our business!" said Bridget Prunty.
CHAPTER II.
THE SIGNORINO.
One day when Goneril, much browner and rosier for a week among the
mountains, came in to lunch at noon, she found no signs of that usually
regular repast. The little maid was on her knees, polishing the floor;
Miss Prunty was scolding, dusting, ordering dinner, arranging vases, all
at once; strangest of all, Madame Petrucci had taken the oil-cloth cover
from her grand piano, and, seated before it, was practising her sweet
and faded notes, unheedful of the surrounding din and business.
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