"We needn't have two more," Sophy consoled him. "I've thought it out already. To-morrow morning we can breakfast on the terrace. Then we can go to the Hotel Ghiffa for luncheon. Our boat doesn't leave until three."
He looked at her with cordial appreciation.
"Clever girl—so we can!" he said. "But, I say"—his face fell—"what about my swim and sun-bath? That would cut me short—lunching at Ghiffa, I mean."
"But there's a capital bathing-shore at the hotel," she reminded him. "You can have your swim there while they prepare luncheon."
About eleven o'clock next morning they sauntered together along the white high-road to Ghiffa.
"You will have a glorious swim...." Sophy said, looking at the lake that drowsed under the faint breath of a listless Tramontana.
"Those sleek, snaky trails on the water mean rain, they tell me," answered Chesney. "I'm in luck to have a sunny day for my last swim."
"Yes," she assented dreamily. "Rain isn't becoming to Italy. She's like a beautiful woman who doesn't know how to cry."
"Sophy! How feminine! Do you know 'how to cry,' pray?"
"No. I haven't the knack at all." She laughed a little. "I make horrid faces.... I can feel myself making them."