Presently he became aware that she was understood to be singing pointedly to him:  upon which he dismissed the council of his sensations, and began to diplomatize cleverly.  Leaning over to Adela, he whispered: 

“Pericles wants her to go to Italy.  My belief is, that she won’t.”

“And why?” returned Adela, archly reproachful.

“Well, we’ve been spoiling her a little, perhaps.  I mean, we men, of course.  But, I really don’t think that I’m chiefly to blame.  You won’t allow Captain Gambier to be in fault, I know.”

“Why not?” said Adela.

“Well, if you will, then he is the principal offender.”

Adela acted disbelief; but, unprepared for her brother’s perfectly feminine audacity of dissimulation, she thought:  “He can’t be in earnest about the girl,” and was led to fancy that Gambier might, and to determine to see whether it was so.

By this manoeuvre, Wilfrid prepared for himself a defender when the charge was brought against him.

Mr. Pericles was thunderstruck on hearing Emilia refuse to go to Italy.  A scene of tragic denunciation on the one hand, and stubborn decision on the other, ensued.

“I shall not mind zis” (he spoke of Love and the awakening of the female heart) “not when you are trained.  It is good, zen, and you have fire from it.  But, now! little fool, I say, it is too airly—­too airly!  How shall you learn—­eh? with your brain upon a man?  And your voice, little fool, a thing of caprice, zat comes and goes as he will, not you will.  Hein? like a barrel-organ, which he turns ze handle.—­Mon Dieu!  Why did I leave her?” Mr. Pericles struck his brow with his wrist, clutching at the long thin slice of hair that did greasy duty for the departed crop on his poll.  “Did I not know it was a woman?  And so you are, what you say, in lofe.”

Emilia replied:  “I have not said so,” with exasperating coolness.

“You have your eye on a man.  And I know him, zat man!  When he is tired of you—­whiff, away you go, a puff of smoke!  And you zat I should make a Queen of Opera!  A Queen?  You shall have more rule zan twenty Queens—­forty!  See” (Mr. Pericles made his hand go like an aspen-leaf from his uplifted wrist); “So you shall set ze hearts of sossands!  To dream of you, to adore you! and flowers, flowers everywhere, on your head, at your feet.  You choose your lofer from ze world.  A husband, if it is your taste.  Bose, if you please.  Zen, I say, you shall, you shall lofe a man.  Let him tease and sting—­ah! it will be magnifique:  Aha! ze voice will sharpen, go deep; yeas! to be a tale of blood.  Lofe till you could stab yourself:—­Brava!  But now?  Little fool, I say!”

Emilia believed that she was verily forfeiting an empire.  Her face wore a soft look of delight.  This renunciation of a splendid destiny for Wilfrid’s sake, seemed to make her worthier of him, and as Mr. Pericles unrolled the list of her rejected treasures, her bosom heaved without a regret.