She put up one little sunburned hand.
“Please, Fitz! I—I don’t feel up to it to-day.”
Humbly he subsided.
“I’d no right to ask you the question,” he apologized. “It was kind of you to answer me at all.”
“You’re really a dear, Fitz,” she said, smiling a little wanly. “Sometimes I wish—”
She did not finish her sentence, but wandered over to the window, and gazed out across the square. On the far side something quite out of the ordinary seemed to be going on.
“The legless beggar seems to have collected quite an audience,” she remarked idly.
Her suitor joined her on the parlor balcony.
“Possibly he’s starting a revolution. Any one can do it down here.”
Vehement adjuration, in a high, strident voice, came floating across to them.