"I shall be very glad to learn," was the reply.
I gasped for breath. The fellow was actually making love to her before my very eyes! The cool assurance with which he spoke and the graceful serenity with which he ignored my presence were quite maddening. Here was I, who had been Daphne's sole companion for five months, completely thrown into the shade by a foreigner who had been in her presence only as many minutes.
"And so Rivoli is your native place," said Daphne. "Why, of course, I have heard you say so many a time. How stupid of me to have forgotten! I remember now to have seen a sketch of it in your portfolio. How lucky, papa, that you hit on this spot! You must be familiar, Mr. Vasari, with every stream and crag and cascade about here—with every turn and wind of this valley; you must serve us now and then in the capacity of guide."
"I shall esteem it an honour to do so," he returned.
Matters were growing worse. The lamp that had so long illumined Daphne's path was now under a bushel.
"Look at those wreaths of silvery mist floating across the valley!" said she.
"'As if some angels in their upward flight
Had left their mantles floating in mid-air,'"
said I. I quoted this to show that there were other poetic souls in existence besides Angelo; but my quotation was lost on Daphne.
"And what a lovely violet hue those distant mountains have!" she continued. "I wonder, Mr. Vasari, you never tried to transfer this scene to canvas."