“Don’t you?” Laura looked surprised.
He drew eloquent breath.
“‘Nice!’ Dear lady, we’re speaking of Florence—Buondelmonte’s Florence—Dante’s Florence—Fiorenza, dentro dalla cerchia antica——Don’t you realize? They walked and talked out in that square. From where we sit we can see Savonarola burn. This isn’t a town. It’s Florence, watering her flowers with heart’s blood these thousand years.”
“That’s right, old man,” Justin encouraged him.
“But it’s a nice place now, don’t you think?” said Laura.
Mrs. Cloud drank some coffee hurriedly.
“And I never dreamed the shops would be so good. Ripping hats!” Laura’s candid eyes assured Oliver how pleased she was to join with him in praising Florence.
But Justin protested: he felt that Laura was being unusual. He had never seen her in such mood before, and he didn’t like it.
“Laura, you’ve not been in once since we came!”
“Oh, but I’ve wanted to.” She answered him with the smile and the look that was his due: and then, “There’s a hat in that street where we got the cabinet—with thistles on it—a dream——”