corner, though I've money enough to be comfortable with. Should I like
it, your life, I wonder? You're not bored, it seems. I always am. What
is it you like so much?"

Peter said, lots of things. No, he wasn't bored; things were too amusing
for that.

They couldn't get any further, because Ashe's mother called him from the
carriage in the road. She too looked tired, and had sad eyes.

Peter looked after them with compassion. They were wasting their little
time together terribly, being sad when they should have found, in these
last few months or years of life, quiet fun on the warm shore where they
had come to make loss less bitter.

Tea being over, he went paddling, with Thomas laughing on his shoulder,
till it was Thomas's bedtime. Then he put Thomas away in his warm corner
of the cart, and Livio joined him, and they had supper together at a
_trattoria_, and then climbed the road between vineyards and lemon
gardens up to the new white hotel.

Livio, as they walked, practised his repertory of songs, singing
melodious snatches in the lemon-scented dusk. They came to the hotel, and
found that the inhabitants were sitting round little tables in the dim
garden, having their coffee by the light of hanging lanterns.

From out of the dusk Livio struck his mandolin and sweetly sang. Peter
meanwhile wandered round from group to group displaying his wares by
the pink light of the lanterns. He met with some success; he really
embroidered rather nicely, and people were good-natured and kind to the