"That would be twenty, wouldn't it?"
She nodded.
"I am older than that. I am twenty-four."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
"And is the signora twenty-four, too?"
"Maddalena!" Maurice exclaimed, with a sudden impatience that was almost fierce. "Why do you keep on talking about the signora to-night? This is your festa. The signora is in Africa, a long way off—there—across the sea." He stretched out his arm, and pointed towards the wide waters above which the stars were watching. "When she comes back you can see her, if you wish—but now—"
"When is she coming back?" asked the girl.
There was an odd pertinacity in her character, almost an obstinacy, despite her young softness and gentleness.
"I don't know," Maurice said, with difficulty controlling his gathering impatience.