It was time to
mobilise, and she had first to state her views and her plan of campaign
to the chief of her staff.
"No, we did not quite like our evening, Peppino and I, did we,
_caro_?" she went on. "And Mr Cortese! His appearance! He is like
a huge hairdresser. His touch on the piano. If you can imagine a wild
bull butting at the keys, you will have some idea of it. And above all,
his Italian! I gathered that he was a Neapolitan, and we all know what
Neapolitan dialect is like. Tuscans and Romans, who between them I
believe--Lingua Toscano in Bocca Romana, you remember--know how to
speak their own tongue, find Neapolitans totally unintelligible. For
myself, and I speak for mio sposo as well, I do not want to understand
what Romans do not understand. La bella lingua is sufficient for me."
"I hear that Olga could understand him quite well," said Georgie
betraying his complete knowledge of all that had happened.
"That may be so," said Lucia. "I hope she understood his English too,
and his music. He had not an 'h' when he spoke English, and I have not
the slightest doubt in my own mind that his Italian was equally
illiterate. It does not matter; I do not see that Mr Cortese's
linguistic accomplishments concern us. But his music does, if poor Miss
Bracely, with her lovely notes, is going to study it, and appear as
Lucretia. I am sorry if that is so.
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