"Our friend Marzio is slightly mad, but he is a good fellow in theory.

In practice that sort of thing must be dropped into public life a little at a time, as one drops vinegar into a salad, on each leaf.

If you don't, all the vinegar goes to the bottom together, and smells horribly sour." While Marzio was holding forth to his friends, the family circle in the Via dei Falegnami was enjoying a very pleasant evening in his absence.
The Signora Pandolfi presided at supper in a costume which lacked elegance, but ensured comfort--the traditional skirt and white cotton jacket of the Italian housewife.

Lucia wore the same kind of dress, but with less direful effects upon her appearance.

Gianbattista, as usual after working hours, was arrayed in clothes of fashionable cut, aiming at a distant imitation of the imaginary but traditional English tourist.
A murderous collar supported his round young chin, and a very stiffly-constructed pasteboard-lined tie was adorned by an exquisite silver pin of his own workmanship--the only artistic thing about him.
Besides these members of the family, there was a fourth person at supper, the person whom, of all others, Marzio detested, Paolo Pandolfi, his brother the priest, commonly called Don Paolo.