Lily justified his words better than she realized, by flushing deeply with vexation. She had thought that he understood her, but his understanding had been only the first move in the game, and she realized, with something nearly allied to disappointment, that the Italian was not the man to rouse her to any appreciation of subsequent moves.
"It's just—not," she thought, and involuntarily the words added themselves—"like Nicholas. He's—just not."
She was slightly relieved, upon the whole, when della Torre bade her a whimsical farewell.
"I still think that I could have taught you something, had you been willing to learn—but you are afraid. You will learn not to be afraid of life, some day, and then——"
He made an expressive gesture.
"Am I afraid of life?" she said, rather surprised. "Yes, I think perhaps I am. I think I have always been taught to be afraid of it."
"And I, I wanted to teach you to forget everything that you have been taught! But it is never the teaching that matters—only the teacher. You know what they say?"
He paused a moment dramatically, looking at her and smiling.
"C'est le ton qui fait la musique."
Lily remembered the words very often, after Giulio della Torre had gone.