VI
And then I don’t know how long we stood together in silence.
This would never do, I recognised. I must not stand before her in silence, like a guilty schoolboy. I must feign composure. I must carry off the situation lightly, like a man of the world, a man of experience. I groped anxiously in the confusion ot my wits for something that might pass for an apposite remark.
At last I had a flash or inspiration. “What—what fine weather,” I gasped. “Che bel tempo!”
“Oh, molto bello,” she responded. It was like a cadenza on a flute.
“You—you are going into the town?” I questioned.
“Yes,” said she.
“May I—may I have the pleasure———” I faltered.
“But yes,” she consented, with an inflection that wondered. “What else have you spoken to me for?”
And we set off down the salita, side by side.