"Ah ..." she breathed. "You—you startled me," she added as if in explanation.
They were standing close together. The light wind blew her long veil against his cheek. From it there came that faint fragrance of citron. He was glad that it was so dark here on the terrace. He said, with an effort:
"Luigi told me that you would be back shortly, so I waited."
"I ... I am glad," she said. Her heart was beating fast. It was because he had startled her, she told herself. She had thought him in Rome. Now he was suddenly here—close to her. She could think of nothing to say. She felt awkward—shy.
"Won't you ... won't you stop to dinner?" she asked lamely, but her voice sounded lukewarm. She was a little frightened again, because she wanted him to stay so much. The Anglo-Saxon in her put this chill note in her voice just because she so much wanted it.
"Thanks—no," he said. "It is very kind of you, but Baldi is waiting dinner for me."
She said again, murmuring the words, slurring them together:
"I'm sorry."
"But I will stay a few moments if you will let me," said Amaldi, hesitating a little.
"Yes—do," she answered, somewhat recovering herself. "I will just send Luigi down for my parcels, and come back—it is cooler here." She did not want to go into the lighted house with him just then. She still felt that queer shyness.