"Would you come here? Would you pass a winter here, Lilian? You are not ill, Lilian!"
"Of course I am not ill," she said slowly. "But I should prefer to be here rather than in England. There is sun here."
"But our country is Italy, the land of sun!" exclaimed Lucio Sabini.
"That is true," she said, looking at him, expecting another speech.
But he added nothing more. After a moment he resumed.
"Aren't you happy, Lilian, in England?" And he scrutinised her face keenly.
"Who told you that? My father is so good!" she exclaimed, with unwonted vivacity.
"You love him, and he loves you?"
"Yes; I love him, and naturally he loves me."
"And your stepmother: is she good?"