“Where is your home?” she asked him.
“In Italy.” She felt a fool.
“Which part?” she insisted.
“Naples,” he said, looking down at her sideways, searchingly.
“It must be lovely,” she said.
“Ha—!” He threw his head on one side and spread out his hands, as if to say—“What do you want, if you don’t find Naples lovely.”
“I should like to see it. But I shouldn’t like to die,” she said.
“What?”
“They say ‘See Naples and die,’” she laughed.
He opened his mouth, and understood. Then he smiled at her directly.