Gino became terribly depressed over the solicitors’ letter, more depressed than she thought necessary.  There was no more to do in the house, and he spent whole days in the loggia leaning over the parapet or sitting astride it disconsolately.

“Oh, you idle boy!” she cried, pinching his muscles.  “Go and play pallone.”

“I am a married man,” he answered, without raising his head.  “I do not play games any more.”

“Go and see your friends then.”

“I have no friends now.”

“Silly, silly, silly!  You can’t stop indoors all day!”

“I want to see no one but you.”  He spat on to an olive-tree.

“Now, Gino, don’t be silly.  Go and see your friends, and bring them to see me.  We both of us like society.”

He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, went out, found that he was not as friendless as he supposed, and returned after several hours in altered spirits.  Lilia congratulated herself on her good management.

“I’m ready, too, for people now,” she said.  “I mean to wake you all up, just as I woke up Sawston.  Let’s have plenty of men—­and make them bring their womenkind.  I mean to have real English tea-parties.”

“There is my aunt and her husband; but I thought you did not want to receive my relatives.”

“I never said such a—­”

“But you would be right,” he said earnestly.  “They are not for you.  Many of them are in trade, and even we are little more; you should have gentlefolk and nobility for your friends.”

“Poor fellow,” thought Lilia.  “It is sad for him to discover that his people are vulgar.”  She began to tell him that she loved him just for his silly self, and he flushed and began tugging at his moustache.

“But besides your relatives I must have other people here.  Your friends have wives and sisters, haven’t they?”

“Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them.”

“Not know your friends’ people?”

“Why, no.  If they are poor and have to work for their living I may see them—­but not otherwise.  Except—­” He stopped.  The chief exception was a young lady, to whom he had once been introduced for matrimonial purposes.  But the dowry had proved inadequate, and the acquaintance terminated.

“How funny!  But I mean to change all that.  Bring your friends to see me, and I will make them bring their people.”

He looked at her rather hopelessly.

“Well, who are the principal people here?  Who leads society?”

The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the officers who assisted him.

“Well, are they married?”

“Yes.”

“There we are.  Do you know them?”

“Yes—­in a way.”

“I see,” she exclaimed angrily.  “They look down on you, do they, poor boy?  Wait!” He assented.  “Wait!  I’ll soon stop that.  Now, who else is there?”