My wife's delicate brows drew together in a frown, a frown that I had once thought came from mere petulance, but which I was now inclined to accept as a sign of temper.

"Yes, indeed, Giacomo," she said, in hard tones, altogether unlike her usual musical voice.
"You are growing so forgetful that it is positively annoying.

You know I have often to tell you the same thing several times.

One command ought to be sufficient for you." Giacomo passed his hand over his forehead in a troubled way, sighed, and was silent.

Then, as if suddenly recollecting his duty, he refilled my glass, and shrinking aside, resumed his former position behind my chair.
The conversation now turned on desultory and indifferent matters.