the tall window with its view of the terraced garden, where the mimosa
bloomed and the blackcaps carolled. Now she turned them slowly upon
John, and he saw from their expression that at last she was coming to
what for her (as he had known all along) was the real preoccupation of
the moment. They were immensely serious, intensely concerned, and at the
same time, in their farther recesses, you felt a kind of fluttering
shyness, as if _I dare not_ were hanging upon _I would_.

"Tell me," she began, on a deep note, a deep coaxing note.... Then _I
dare not_ got the better, and she held back.... Then _I would_ took his
courage in both hands, and she plunged. "What have you brought for me
from Roccadoro?" And after one glance of half-bashful, all-impassioned
supplication, she let her eyes drop, and stood before him suspensive, as
one awaiting the word of destiny.

John's "radiant blondeur," his yellow beard, pink face, and sea-blue
eyes, lighted up, more radiant still, with subcutaneous laughter.

"The shops were shut," he said. "I arrived after closing time."

But something in his tone rendered this grim announcement nugatory.
Annunziata drew a long breath, and looked up again. "You have brought
me something, all the same," she declared with conviction; and eagerly,
eyes gleaming, "What is it? What is it?" she besought him.

John laughed. "You are quite right," he said. "If one can't buy, beg, or
borrow, in this world, one can generally steal."

Annunziata drew away, regarded him with misgiving. "Oh, no; you would
never steal," she protested.