"A paladin oddly panoplied," said John. "Tell me honestly, weren't you in two minds whether or not to reward me with largesse? You had silver in your hand."
Maria Dolores laughed. I think she coloured a little.
"Perhaps I was, for half a second," she confessed. "But your grand manner soon put me in one mind."
John also laughed. He took a turn backwards and forwards. "I have waked in the dead of night, and grown hot and cold to remember the figure of fun I was."
"No," said Maria Dolores, to console him. "You weren't a figure of fun. Your costume had the air of being an impromptu, but," she laughed, "your native dignity shone through."
"Thank you," said John, bowing. "The next time I saw you was that same afternoon. You were with Annunziata in the avenue. I carried my vision of you, like a melody, all the way to Roccadoro-and all the way home again."
"I had just made Annunziata's acquaintance," said Maria Dolores.
"You had a white sunshade and a lilac frock," said John. "The next time was that night in the moonlight. You were all in white, with a scarf of white lace over your hair. You threw me a white rose from your balcony—and I have carried that rose with me ever since."
"I threw you a white rose?" doubted Maria Dolores, looking up, at fault.
"Yes," said John. "Have you forgotten it?"