She was walking by his side under the gnarled olives which had been stripped a month before of their black berries. She was looking at him frankly, curiously, with doubtful glances.
'I am afraid you are of the noblesse,' she said, abruptly stopping short within a yard of the house.
'What makes you think that?' he said, aware that he received the prettiest of indirect compliments which a much flattered life had ever given him.
'You look like it,' she answered. 'You have an air about you, and your linen is so fine, and your voice is soft and slow. It is only the noble people who have that kind of music in their voices.'
'I wish I were a peasant if it would please you better,' he said gallantly.
She answered very literally:
'That is nonsense. You cannot wish such a thing; no one ever wishes to go down. And, for myself, I do not mind; it is my grandfather who hates the aristocrats.'
'So I have heard,' said Loswa. 'But he is out to-day, you say. Will you not let me sketch this superb view?'
'Yes, if you like. I never saw anyone paint, as I told you; I shall be glad to see it. But will you not come in and eat and drink something first? I have heard that the nobles, when they are not dressing and dancing, are always eating and drinking.'