den illumination of expression as by the vivid flash of white teeth in his dark face; and Anne found herself as though hypnotized to smile in return. “The next time,” he continued, “I shall not watch, I shall speak to you at once—if I may.” The last three words were added as a mechanical tribute to good manners.
He was observing her attentively, and few details of her severe little walking-suit escaped him; but he found its very severity and lack of display refreshing, and looked at the wing of clear scarlet which lay against her hair as though he adored it.
Anne was aware of the look, and began to enjoy herself immensely.
“I did not expect to meet you in the gardens,” she said. “They tell me that in the morning, when one may not make calls, you walk upon the Corso, or stand about opposite the big café with other men, watching the people who pass.”
“So they have spoken to you of me, and you have listened.”
“What they told me was interesting,” said Anne, “for in the stories you were not always standing in front of a café.” She paused suddenly, regretting that in her play she had touched on a grave subject.
“Is it permitted that we walk a little together?”
34
