“Thank you for the almond blossom,” Teresa called out cheerfully. “There you see the result.”
And she made a little movement of her hand towards Sylvia, who stood like a charming woodland picture of Spring, all white and pink. But Wilbraham glanced coldly.
“I sent them to you,” he said with a touch of reproach in his tone which made Teresa open her eyes.
“Brought them, I hear,” she said teasingly. “It was heroic of you. How many ‘Buon giorno’s’ and ‘Porto io’s’ had you to face? I didn’t believe I could so quickly have got tired of the words. As we came along I heard mothers urging tiny shy babies of two or three—‘Vai, vai, di buon giorno, un soldo signora!’ They are so pretty, too! And the creatures, pertinacious as they are, bear no malice when one is cross; just laugh and make way for another troop.”
“Walter says that one ought not to give to beggars,” Sylvia announced.
“Ah! I shall, though, when a baby says ‘Bon zorno!’”
“For pity’s sake don’t make me out a prig, Sylvia!”
He spoke almost roughly, and Teresa fired.
“You should be flattered at her remembering your commands!”
“Was I rude? I beg your pardon,” said Wilbraham quickly.