"What could you do wit her?"
"I could see her and comfort her."
"Ah! an' you hope to make her escape. Ha, ha! ver well. You mus not
complain eef you haf to soffair de consequence. Aha! an' so de priest
bring you here--ha?"
Ethel was silent.
"Ah! you fear to say--you fear you harma de priest--ha?"
Minnie had thus far said nothing, but now she rose and looked at
Girasole, and then at Ethel. Then she twined one arm around Ethel's
waist, and turned her large, soft, childish eyes upon Girasole.
"What do you mean," she said, "by _always_ coming here and teasing,
and worrying, and firing off pistols, and frightening people? I'm sure
it was horrid enough for you to make me come to this wretched place,
when you _know_ I don't like it, without annoying me so. Why did you
go and take away poor darling Kitty? And what do you mean now, pray,
by coming here? I never was treated so unkindly in my life. I did not
think that _any one_ could be so very, very rude."
"Charming mees," said Girasole, with a deprecating air, "it pains me
to do any ting dat you do not like."
"It don't pain you," said Minnie--"it don't pain you _at all._ You're
_always_ teasing me. You _never_ do what I want you to. You wouldn't
even give me a chair."
"Alas, carissima mia, to-morra you sall haf all! But dis place is so
remote."
"It is _not_ remote," said Minnie. "It's close by roads and villages
and things. Why, here is Ethel; she has been in a village where there
are houses, and people, and as many chairs as she wants.
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