"If they've got faults, I love their faults," he said. "They're a lovable race."
"Praising yourself!" she said, laughing at him, but with tender eyes.
"Myself?"
"Never mind. What is it, Gaspare?"
Gaspare had come upon the terrace, his eyes shining with happiness and a box under his arm.
"The signore knows."
"Revolver practice," said Maurice. "I promised him he should have a try to-day. We're going to a place close by on the mountain. He's warned off Ciccio and his goats. Got the paper, Gaspare?"
Gaspare pointed to a bulging pocket.
"Enough to write a novel on. Well—will you come, Hermione?"
"It's too hot in the sun, and I know you're going into the eye of the sun."