Annunziata, her reverie thus disturbed, raised a pair of questioning
eyes.

A lady was standing before her, smiling down upon her, a lady in a frock
of lilac-coloured muslin, with a white sunshade.

Annunziata, who, when she liked, could be the very pink of formal
politeness, rose, dropped a courtesy, and said: "Buon giorno,
Signorina."

"Buon giorno," responded the smiling lady. "Buon giorno--and a penny for
your thoughts. But I'm sure you could never, never tell what it was you
were thinking so hard about."

"Scusi," said Annunziata. "I was trying to think of the name of this
flower." She stooped and picked up the flower, which had slipped from
her lap to the ground when she rose. Then she held it at arm's length,
for inspection.

"Oh?" asked the lady, smiling at the flower, as she had smiled at its
possessor. "Isn't it a narcissus?"

"Yes," said Annunziata. "It is a narcissus. But I was trying to think of
its particular name."

The lady looked as if she did not quite understand. "Its particular
name?"

"It is a narcissus," explained Annunziata, "just as I am a girl. But it