II + 

“So you don’t like my stage-name?” she asked, as I sat down beside her. “Well, for that matter, no more do I.” + 

“It doesn’t suit you,” I protested⁠—“not in the least. Whereas, you might be a Signorina Somebody-or-other, you know. You are dark and stately and⁠—well, I can’t tell you all the things you are,” I complained, “because the English language is so abominably limited. But, upon the whole, I am willing to take the word of the playbill⁠—yes, I am quite willing to accept you as Signorina Capulet. She had a habit of sitting in gardens at night, I remember. Yes,” I decided, after reflection, “I really think it highly probable that you are old Capulet’s daughter. I shall make a point of it to pick a quarrel as soon as possible, with that impertinent, trespassing young Montague. He really doesn’t deserve you, you know.” + 

Unaccountably, her face saddened. Then, “Signorina? Signorina?” she appraised the title. “It is rather a pretty name. And the other is horrible. Yes, you may call me Signorina, if you like.” + 