been struck with a sudden respect. He stood and looked away for a moment at the river and the mountains. "It's very beautiful," I said.
"Oh, it's enchanting," he murmured.
"That's the way I used to talk. But that's nothing to you."
He glanced at me again. "On the contrary, I like to hear."
"Well, then, let us take a walk. If you too are staying at this inn, we are fellow-travellers. We will walk down the Arno to the Cascine. There are several things I should like to ask of you."
My young Englishman assented with an air of almost filial confidence, and we strolled for an hour beside the river and through the shady alleys of that lovely wilderness. We had a great deal of talk: it's not only myself, it's my whole situation over again.
"Are you very fond of Italy? " I asked.
He hesitated a moment. "One can't express that."
"Just so; I couldn't express it. I used to try—I used to write verses. On the subject of Italy I was very ridiculous."
