"Really?" asked the girl reproachfully; "and why?"
"Because I never believe nonsense, and because ..."
He had nearly said too much, but he kept back the words that rose to his lips when he saw how wounded the girl appeared at his incredulity. She smiled, turned her head away, and gazed silently at her plate. Gyuri was silent too, though he felt inclined to cry out:
"I am rich at last, for in the handle of that umbrella there are unknown treasures."
It is remarkable that if good luck befalls a man, his first wish (for he still has wishes, even if they are all fulfilled) is to communicate it to others; he would like trumpets sounded, heralds to be sent round to announce it to the whole world. But then comes doubt, the everlasting "perhaps." And so it was with Gyuri.
"What is the umbrella like, Miss Veronica?" he asked.
Veronica closed her lips firmly, as though she considered it unnecessary to answer him, then thought better of it, and said:
"It is not much to look at; it is of faded red stuff, looks a thousand years old, and is patched all over."
"With a border of small green flowers?"
"Have you seen it?"