There was no harm; and
they thought no harm. Sometimes he could hear her hum to herself a
fragment of one of the old familiar canzoni--"Antoniella Antonia!" or
"Voca, voca ncas' a mano"--so light-hearted was she; and occasionally
they said a word to each other in Neapolitanese--but this was seldom,
for Nina considered the practice to be most reprehensible. What she had
chiefly to take him to task for, however, was his incurable and
inordinate extravagance--wherever she was concerned especially.
"Leo, you think it is a compliment?" she said to him, earnestly. "No,
not at all? I am sorry. Why should you buy for me this, that, whatever
strikes your eye, and no matter the price? I have everything I desire.
Why to me?--why, if you must give, why not to your cousin you tell me
of, who is so kind to the sick children in boarding them in the country?
There, now, is something worthy, something good, something to be
praised--"
"Oh, preach away, Nina!" he answered, with a laugh. "But I've
contributed to Francie's funds until she won't take anything more from
me--not at present. But why do you always talk about saving and saving?
You are an artist, Nina, and you put such value on money!"
"But an artist grows old, Leo," she said.
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