“Yes, aren’t they?”
“And such a heavenly morning after the mist! What are we going to do to-day?”
Hermione gave her her coffee, and the little dry tap of a spoon on an egg-shell was heard in the stillness of the garden.
“Well, I—I am going across to take the tram.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Naples again? I’m tired of Naples.”
There was in her voice a sound that suggested rather hatred than lassitude.
“I don’t know that I shall go as far as Naples. I am going to Mergellina.”
“Oh!”