Carmella Commands
the only, subject of discussion. But experience had taught her that there was little she could do.
“Love her. Sympathize. Praise her for helping you with the housework. Get her to tell you what she does, if you can without nagging. Don’t nag. Have Father Carbone see that she goes to church and confession regularly. But oh, Mrs. Coletta, if only you would learn to talk English with her!”
This was the substance of Miss Young’s advice. A part of it Maria understood, and shook her head, and sighed.
So easy to say; so hard to do. Especially that “speak English” part of it. Carmella was a wonderful girl, but she was not sympathetic, like Miss Young. Maria thought back to far-away days in a far-away land. She had not grown away from her own mother like this. Of course, she had had an occasional escapade. Like all young folk. And been punished for it. It was but natural.
And Tommaso, he had been a radical young man when she began timidly to go about with him. Her mother had scolded her for choosing so impetuous a mate. Of course! But, ah! Never had there been this horrible curtain of strange speech between them. Like a black barrier. Like steel netting behind which prisoners stood when friends visited them. One could see—ah, yes!—one could see. The outside. But that was all.
Through the week Maria sighed and thought of
[68]
