e between a Sicilian and an Italian?" asked
Dulcie.

"The difference between Welsh and English. Sicily is, of course, a part
of Italy, and under the same government, just as Wales is part of Great
Britain, but its people are of separate origin from the Italians, and
speak a dialect of their own. Italian is the polite language of Sicily,
which is spoken in law courts, and shops, and among educated people, but
most of the peasants speak Sicilian amongst themselves."

"Can you speak it?"

"A little. All the words ending in 'e' are turned into 'i.' For
instance, 'latte' (milk) becomes 'latti,' and 'pesce' (fish) 'pesci,' o
changes into u, and ll into dd. 'Freddo' (cold) becomes 'friddu,' and
'gallina' (a hen) 'gaddina.'"

"How fearfully confusing! I should never learn it! The few sentences of
Italian I've managed to pick up are quite bad enough!"

"Why, I think you're getting on very well. Sareda understood you
perfectly this morning when you asked for hot milk instead of coffee."

The best of Casa Bianca was that with its ample space and its traditions
of hospitality, it seemed to absorb the Ingletons and make them feel
more members of the family than guests. Mr. Stacey and Everard were
apportioned a small sitting-room for a study, and worked hard every
morning, giving the afternoon to recreation. Lilias, who had completely
lost her cough, and looked wonderfully well, was put to rest on the
piazza in the mornings, though she protested that she was no longer an
invalid. Dulcie, radiantly happy, and enjoying her holiday to the full,
trotted about with Carmel, and made friends with the children and their
French governess. Bertram, Nina, Vincent, and baby Luigia were dear
little people, and were only too anxious to show the guest the glories
of the garden. Hand in hand with them, Dulcie inspected the marble
fountain whose basin was full of gold and silver fish, the tank where
pink water-lilies grew, and the groves of orange trees where the ripe
fruit hung like the golden apples of the Hesperides, and Parma violets
made clumps of pale purple sweetness beneath.

Remembering that it was early in March, and that bitter winds were
probably blowing over Chilcombe and Cheverley, Dulcie was amazed at the
warmth of the Sicilian sunshine and the wealth of the flowers. Pink
ivy-leaved geraniums trailed from every wall, great white arum lilies
opened their stately sheaths; marigolds, salvias, carnations, and other
summer flowers w