“Here is a buttonhole for you; let me put it in your coat.”
All through dinner-time he did his best to be amiable, and kept up a flow of small-talk, to which she responded with radiant smiles. Her evident joy at his return somewhat embarrassed him; he had grown so accustomed to the idea that she led her own life apart from his, among such friends and companions as were congenial to her, that it had never occurred to him to imagine her as missing him. And yet she must have felt dull to be so much excited now.
“Let us have coffee up on the terrace,” she said; “it is quite warm this evening.”
“Very well. Shall I take your guitar? Perhaps you will sing.”
She flushed with delight; he was critical about music and did not often ask her to sing.
On the terrace was a broad wooden bench running round the walls. The Gadfly chose a corner with a good view of the hills, and Zita, seating herself on the low wall with her feet on the bench, leaned back against a pillar of the roof. She did not care much for scenery; she preferred to look at the Gadfly.
“Give me a cigarette,” she said. “I don't believe I have smoked once since you went away.”
“Happy thought! It's just s-s-smoke I want to complete my bliss.”
She leaned forward and looked at him earnestly.
“Are you really happy?”