Constance clasped her hands in an ecstasy of admiration.
“Constance clasped her hands in an ecstasy of admiration”
“He’s perfect!” she cried. “Where on earth did Gustavo find him? Did you ever see anything so beautiful?” she appealed to the others. “He looks like a brigand in opera bouffe.”
The donkey-man reddened visibly and fumbled with his hat.
“My dear,” her father warned, “he understands English.”
She continued to gaze with the open admiration one would bestow upon a picture or a view or a blue-ribbon horse. The man flashed her a momentary glance from a pair of searching gray eyes, then dropped his gaze humbly to the ground.
“Buon giorno,” he said in glib Italian.
Constance studied him more intently. There was something elusively familiar about his expression; she was sure she had seen him before.