At the foot of the stone steps leading down from the street before Drea's door there was a narrow strip of stone pavement, and a floating wooden stage where the boat was moored. In the corner there, where the angle of the great granite buttress made a sheltered spot, was Italia's favourite seat. By sitting well back in the shadow one was entirely out of sight, unless indeed some especially adventurous spirit bethought himself to take the trouble to lean bodily over the parapet of the bridge overhead. But it was too busy a part of Leghorn for much idling: all day long the tramp, tramp of hurrying feet, and the hollow rumbling of the weighted carts rolling towards the lading ships, made a dull, continuous bass, which effectually covered any sound of voices. Italia could sing there by the hour over her work, sure of never being heard, save perhaps by some taciturn weather-beaten fisherman poling his flat-bottomed boat into the quieter water of the canal. It was Drea's own landing-stage, and he was jealous of his rights to it, giving but few boats the privilege of mooring there for an hour. Since the building of the railway, now that the canal has ceased to be of use for the heavier traffic between Leghorn and Pisa, a quieter spot than this could scarcely be imagined. For even the supposititious idler would scarcely be tempted to look this way when, just across the bridge, by leaning over the opposite balustrade, one could look down upon all the hurry and interest of the Old Port, and watch the slow heaving of the anchors, the puffing excitement of the blackened vessels getting up steam, or the continual come-and-go of the little boats among the shipping.
The noise and the hurry passed like an unheeded stream around Italia's sheltered corner. Dino had compared her once to an enchanted princess, and her quaint rooms, with the silent, sunny platform in front of them, to a strip of enchanted ground set apart from the disturbing commonplaces of life. The remembrance of the old fancy brought a smile upon his lips as he ran lightly down the steps that morning. Drea was not there, and the old boat was not at her mooring, but Italia was sitting just where he had expected to find her. She held a book in her hand, but she was not reading, she was looking dreamily at the lazy lapping of the water against the old wooden stage. She wore the same blue cotton dress as on the previous night, but she had taken off her beads and clasp, and tied a scarlet handkerchief about her neck. Her hat was lying on the ground beside her; Dino picked it up, and his first greeting was one of playful reproof.
'Bareheaded in this March sunshine, my Italia? Pazzarella! Your father was right indeed when he said it required two of us to look after you.'
'Dino mio!'
She looked up at him with a wide, dreamy glance, which suddenly grew bright and loving. The hot colour rushed to her cheeks, and she put up her little brown hands as if to hide them, while she laughed and shook her head.
'Marzo pazzo, ah, yes, I know it. But indeed, Dino, this is much more likely to drive me to distraction.' She opened the book on her lap, and turned over half a dozen pages. 'I have really tried to learn it, really. But it is so difficult; you have no idea how difficult it is, Dino.'
'Poor little thing! It is a shame to give it such hard lessons,' said Dino in a caressing tone, looking down at the rough brown hair. He threw himself down on the pavement in the shadow at her feet, and put up his hand for the book.
'Here! let me have a look at it, and see if I can't do something to make it easier for you. What is it? Arithmetic? Oh! but this is what I gave you to do long ago. No wonder you find it difficult; you have had time to forget all my explanations. Let me see now; have you a pencil?'
'Yes; but you can't write with it. I've broken the point.'
'Give it here, then, you helpless baby!'