"You see, there are a good many kinds of roses," he observed, because it would have been rude to say nothing at all. "They are not all in flower yet."
"It is only the beginning of May," the young girl answered, without interest.
They came to the broader walk on the other side of the plot of roses, and Guido had to walk by her side again.
"I like your friend," she said suddenly.
"I am very glad," Guido replied, unbending at once and quietly looking at her now. "People do not always like him at first sight."
"No, I understand that. He has the look in his eyes that men get who have killed."
"Has he?" Guido seemed surprised. "Yes, he killed several men in Africa, when he was alone against many, and they meant to murder him. He is brave. Make him tell you about it, if you can induce him to talk."
"Is that so very hard?" Cecilia laughed. "Is he really more silent than you?"
"Nobody ever called me silent," answered Guido, smiling. "I suppose you thought so—" he stopped.
"Because I did not know how to begin, and because you would not. Is that what you were going to say?"