question.

"Don't you pretend to have forgotten, Nina," Lionel said, reprovingly.
"Don't you look so innocent. If you have no memory, then I have."

"But who, Leo?" she demanded, with a touch of indignation.
"Who?--who?--who? What is it you mean?"

"Nina, don't you pretend you have forgotten poor Nicolo Ciana."

"Oh, Nicolo!" she exclaimed, with supreme contempt (but all the same
there was a faint flush on the clear olive complexion). "You laugh at
me, Leo! Nicolo! He was all, as they say here, sham--sham jewelry, sham
clothes, all pretence, except the oil for his hair--that was plenty and
substantial, yes. And a sham voice--he told lies to the _maestro_ about
his wonderful compass--"

"Now, now, Nina, don't be unjust," he said. "Mrs. Grey must hear the
truth. Mrs. Grey, this was a young Italian who wanted to be better
acquainted with Miss Nina here--I believe he used to write imploring
letters to her, and that she cruelly wouldn't answer them; and then he
wrote to Maestro Pandiani, describing the wonderful tenor voice he had,
and saying he wanted to study. I suppose he fancied that if the
_maestro_ would only believe in the mysterious qualities of this
wonderful organ of his he would try to bring them out; and in the
meantime the happy Nicolo would be meeting Nina continually. A lover's
stratagem--nothing worse than that! What is the harm of saying that you
could take the high C if you were in ordinary health, but that your
voice has been ill-used by a recent fever? It was Nina he was thinking
of. Don't I remember how I used to hear him coming along the
garden-paths in the Villa Reale--if there were few people about you
could hear his vile falsetto a mile off--and always it was:

'Antoniella, Antonia,
Antoniella, Antonia;
Votate, Nenna bella, votate cca,
Vedimmo a pettenessa comme te sta.'"

"Leo," she said, with proud lips, "he never called me '_Nenna
mia_'--never! He dared not!"

In another instant, he could see, there would have been protesting tears
in her eyes; and even Mrs. Grey, who did not know the meaning of the
familiar Neapolitan phrase,[1] noticed the tremulous indignation in the
girl's voice.

[Footnote 1: _Nenna mia_ or _Nenna bella_ is the pet phrase used by
the Neapolitan young man in addressing his sweetheart. _Nenna_ has
nothing to do with _Nina_, which is a contraction of Antonia.]

"Of course not, Nina," he said, at once; "I was only joking--but you
know