He lighted a cigarette, and stood there till he had consumed
it.
"Heigh-ho!" he sighed at last, and turned back towards the
villa. And "Yes," he concluded, "I must certainly keep an eye
on our friend Peter Marchdale."
"But I 'm doubting it's a bit too late--troppo tardo," he
said to Marietta, whom he found bringing hot water to his
dressing-room.
"It is not very late," said Marietta. "Only half-past ten."
"She is a woman--therefore to be loved; she is a duchess
--therefore to be lost," he explained, in his native tongue.
"Cosa." questioned Marietta, in hers.