Fothy can be very mean when he wants to. So he said:
"I don't read Italian, Mrs. Easeley. I have been forced to get all my information about Citronella and Stegomyia from English writers. Maybe you would be good enough to tell me what Italian poet it is who has turned out the most recent version of Citronella and Stegomyia?"
Mrs. Voke Easeley answered without a moment's hesitation: "Why, D'Annunzio, of course."
That made everybody waver again. And Aurelia Dart said—she's that girl with the beautiful arms, you know, who plays the harp and always has a man or two to carry it about wherever she goes—somebody else's husband, if she can manage it—Aurelia said:
"D Annunzio, of course! Passages of it have been set to music."
"Won't you play some of it?" asked Fothy, very politely.
"It has never been arranged for the harp," said Aurelia. "But if Mrs. Easeley can remember some of the lines, and will be good enough to repeat them, I will improvise for it."
That put it up to Mrs. Easeley again, you know. She hates Aurelia, and Aurelia knows it. Voke Easeley carried Aurelia's harp around almost all last winter. And the only way Mrs. Easeley could
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