In the Piazza Sam bought me a little bunch of blue flowers which were combined with yellow daisies, and I slipped these in under my broad sash, and after that we took the car and began our ride up to Fiesole.
“I’m awfully keen to meet Miss Parrish,” said Sam, “because you like her so. She isn’t like her niece, is she?”
“Oh, no!” I answered quickly, “not at all!”
“Does she believe in careers for women and all that sort of rot?” asked Sam, as a fat woman who carried a baby and was followed by five children and a poodle dog, got on.
“No,” I answered, and then I told him what Miss Sheila had advised.
“Going to take her advice?” asked Sam, and he turned in the seat and leaned way over me until he could see under the brim of my broad hat.
“I don’t know,” I answered, although I did, all suddenly and at that minute.
“Don’t you?” he repeated, “Oh, Jane!”
And he looked so miserable—he really did—that I said I did know. And then I looked out of the window, although there wasn’t much to see just at that point except a tan stucco wall, with pink and blue tiles set in it.
“You’re too young to bother,” said Sam, as he plaited the end of my sash which I had been careful not to sit on because I didn’t want it crushed, “but when you get along to the age when I dare court you, I’ll tell you—” he drew a deep breath—“Well, you’ll see!” he ended, in a half threatening way.