One day I accompanied Signora Lucretia and her children to a Roman Catholic chapel in the neighborhood.  I could not be unconscious of the odd and incongruous appearance of the two sons—­Eugenio in a suit like that of a stage grandfather, snuff-colored, and with collar that raised the lobes of his ears; and dear little Celestino with a similarly cut coat in bottle green, with large gilt buttons, making him look like a man in miniature.  Such had been the style pronounced by the village tailor to be in the height of Parisian fashion, but being a novelty to the London “gamins,” it attracted more notice from them than we could have wished.  After Signora Mortera and her children had attended the confessional she seemed to be much easier in her mind, and was so amiable as to tell my mother on our return home that it was edifying to behold the signorina walking like a Roman matron, in contrast to those who were giggling and turning their heads first one way and then the other, like so many pulcinelle.  Notwithstanding this compliment, however, I perceived that she was uneasy concerning Eugenio and myself.  It was evidently a satisfaction to her that I should load Celestino with caresses and endearing epithets, but that Eugenio should sit near me, speak to me, or even be in the same room with me (whether alone or in company), was the signal for demonstrations of the extremest vigilance.  On one evening my cousin had brought home some gifts, consisting of a silver pencil-case with gold pen for Eugenio, a traveling writing-case with his name on it for Celestino, and a small traveling work-bag similarly marked for Virginia.  These were highly appreciated.  Celestino seemed unwilling to have his desk out of his sight for a single moment, and when his bed-time came wanted to take it up with him.  His mother, unwilling to leave Eugenio in my society without her watchful presence, directed him to carry his brother up.

“Signora madre,” said Celestino, “I am not tired to-night.”

“Well, then, Eugenio can carry up thy writing-case for thee.”

“Signora madre, it is not heavy, and I would like to carry it myself.”

So Signora Lucretia went up with him herself, and, leaving my mother to entertain Eugenio, I went immediately into another room.  I felt too deeply for the misfortunes of the unsophisticated Eugenio ever to have willingly trifled with the nascent susceptibilities of his heart.

One little incident, however, occurred to interrupt the orthodox reserve of our demeanor.  An old friend of ours, Captain Stuart, had sent Virginia a bank-note with which to procure some keepsake.  One evening the old gentleman called, and was shown into the drawing-room, where my mother received him.  The rest of us were in the dining-room below.  On my mentioning Captain Stuart’s name to Signora Lucretia, she exclaimed, “Let us go, my children, and thank this good man for his kind present to our Virginia.”