One evening, when her wiles and coquetries had as usual failed to arouse the master from his imperturbable gravity, she assumed a solemn expression herself.
"Benvenuto," said she, "it seems to me, do you know, as if you had forgotten your promise to me."
"What promise is that, my dear child?" rejoined Benvenuto, apparently seeking an explanation of her reproach from the ceiling.
"Haven't you promised a hundred times to marry me?"
"I don't remember it."
"You don't remember it?"
"No; I should say that my only reply was, 'This requires consideration.'"
"Well! have you considered it?"
"Yes."
"With what result?"