It was in the Boboli Garden, where he had gone to walk off a fit of weariness; here he came upon Miss Stowe. There seemed to be no one in the garden save themselves—at least, no one whom they knew; only a few stray tourists wandering about, with Baedeker, Horner, and Hare. The world of fashion was at the Cascine that day, where races were going on. Morgan did not feel like talking; he exchanged the usual phrases with Miss Stowe, and then prepared to pass on. But she said, gently, "Are you going now? If not, why not stroll awhile with me?"
After this, as he mentally observed, of course he was forced to stroll awhile. But, on the whole, he found himself entertained, because his companion gave him an attention which was almost devout. Its seriousness, indeed, compelled him to be serious likewise, and made him feel as though he were in an atmosphere combining the characteristics of a church and a school; he was partly priest, partly pedagogue, and the sensation was amusing. She asked him what he liked best in Florence; and she called it, gravely, "enchanting Florence."
"Giotto and Botticelli," he answered.
"I wish you would be in earnest; I am in earnest."
"With all the earnestness in the world, Miss Stowe, I could only repeat the same reply."
"What is it you find to like in them? Will you tell me?"
"It would take an age—a full half-hour; you would be quite tired out. Women are so much quicker in their mental processes than we are that you would apprehend what I was going to say before I could get it out; you would ascend all the heights, scour all the plains, and arrive at the goal before I came even in sight, where you would sit waiting, patiently or impatiently, as I, slowly and with mortified perception, approached."
"Yes, we are quick; but we are superficial. I wish you would tell me."
He glanced at her; she was looking at him with an expression in her eyes which was extremely earnest. "I cannot deliver a discourse while walking," he said. "I require a seat."
"Let us go to the amphitheatre; I often sit there for a while on the stone benches under the old statues. I like to see them standing around the circle; they are so serenely indifferent to the modern pencil-scrawlings on their robes, so calmly certain that their time will come again."