” “Well?” “Lunch! I am hungry—tragically hungry. “He ran some Austrian fellow off. I have suffered all this. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. ” She sniffled. You ought to have had better advice two years ago. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. It seemed to make her sister downcast beyond any precedent. Oh, it was very bad. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop.
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