He
opened it, and found the Signor, no longer in a tail-coat, but in a short,
faded blue jacket that made him look shabbier than ever.
"Excuse--not intruding, I hope?" He looked gloomily round the room.
"Everything all right?"
"Very nice," said Peter.
"Ah, you'll like it at first--but never mind. Wonderful woman, Mrs.
Brockett. I expect you were alarmed just now."
"I was, a little," admitted Peter.
"Ah, well, we all are at first. But you'll get over that, you'll love
her--every one loves her. By the way," he pushed his hand through his hair,
"what I came about was to tell you that we all foregather--as you might
say--in the sitting-room before dinner--yes--and I'd like to introduce you
to my wife, the Signora--not Italian, you know--but you'll like her better
than me--every one's agreed that hers is a nicer character."
Peter, trembling a little at the thought of more strangers, followed the
Signer downstairs and found, in the middle of one of the dark landings,
looking as though she had been left there by some one and completely
forgotten, a little wisp of a woman with bright yellow hair and a straw
coloured dress, and this was the Signora. This lady shook hands with him in
a frightened tearful way and made choking noises all the way downstairs,
and this distressed Peter very much until he discovered that she had a
passion for cough drops, which she kept in her pocket in a little tin box
and sucked perpetually.
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