“Nino, you must go to bed,” said Colin.
“Si, signor! But I doubt if I could carry myself down to the Marina to-night. I have the legs of the old woman, as I shall know when I come to stand up. May I sleep myself sober in your garden beside the cistern? It is the signor’s fault—scusi—that I am thus; my fault for taking, but his for giving.”
Colin rapidly pondered this.... Should Violet be wakeful and open her Venetian blinds, she would surely see him there. He pointed to the sofa against the wall.
“Lie down there, Nino,” he said, “and I will bring you a rug. You will be more comfortable than on the gravel. You must be off before dawn. Just wait a minute.”
Colin kicked off his shoes, so as not to disturb Violet, ran upstairs and peeped into her room. There was silence and stillness there, and going into his dressing-room next door, he picked up a folded rug off his bed, and went downstairs with it. Nino was bowed over the table, helpless and inert, and Colin choked down a spasm of laughter within him.
“Nino, wake up for one minute,” he said. “Put your arm round my neck and let me lay you down. Oh, do as I tell you, Nino!”
Nino leaned his whole weight on Colin’s encircled neck, and was laid down on the sofa. Colin loosed the smart tie with which he had adorned himself for this visit to the villa, and unbuckled his leather belt, and taking out a ten lira note from his purse, he thrust it into Nino’s breast-pocket.
“I’ve put ten liras in your pocket, Nino; don’t forget.”
“But that is too much, signor,” murmured Nino with a guarding hand on his pocket.
“Not for such an agreeable evening. Good-night; I shall want you and your boat again to-morrow morning.”