"What are you?" she asked again.
"I do not live in Venice, Signorina; my home is in Milan."
"In Milan? What do you do there?"
"I am attached to a hospital."
There was something peculiarly provocative of curiosity in the laconic replies of the man. May wondered whether his reticence was due to modesty or to moroseness. Perhaps she could find out.
"What do you do at the hospital?" she asked.
For the first time his eyes met hers directly, as he said, with something almost like a challenge in his voice: "I am one of its servants, Signorina."
Yes, May thought, it was moroseness; he was unhappy, and no wonder.
"What a pity!" she cried, with very genuine compassion in her voice. "It can't be half so nice as being a gondolier."
But Nanni was again intent upon his work, rowing with long, steady strokes, his eyes fixed upon the course of the gondola.