“The contadini—and——”
“And?”
“Italy.”
There was a long silence.
“Tell me, Arthur,” said Montanelli, turning to him and speaking very gravely, “how long have you been thinking about this?”
“Since—last winter.”
“Before your mother's death? And did she know of it?”
“N-no. I—I didn't care about it then.”
“And now you—care about it?”
Arthur pulled another handful of bells off the foxglove.