"Certainly, sir," replied the girl at once in a frank way. "My dear friend, Miss May Ford, Signor Lucio Sabini."
The elderly English lady replied with cold courtesy to the greeting of Don Lucio Sabini. And without giving another glance to the surrounding country, which was enveloping itself in the finest tints, from a delicate violet to the most delicate green, the three withdrew from the quiet cemetery and proceeded silently along the broad high road that leads to the Dorf. Lilian Temple's step was rather quick, and Lucio Sabini adapted his to the girl's. Miss May Ford went more slowly.
"Are you glad, Miss Temple, to have found your purse?" he began to say in his insinuating voice that in French became even more penetrating.
"So glad: I am very grateful to you, Signor."
"You valued it, then?"
"Very much."
"Perhaps it was a souvenir, or a gift?" he ventured to ask, scrutinising those beautiful blue eyes.
But the girl lowered her eyelids; she did not reply.
He understood that he had asked too much; they were silent for a little.
"Do you know Italy, Miss Temple?" he resumed.