"It is impossible!" he cried; "she cannot think I am in love with Giulia! She cannot think I am so old as that!"
The idea seemed horrible to him. He walked on very quickly till he came to Goneril, who was busy plucking roses in a hedge.
"For whom are those flowers?" he asked.
"Some are for you, and some are for Madame Petrucci."
"She is a charming woman, Madame Petrucci."
"A dear old lady," murmured Goneril, much interested in her posy.
"Old do you call her?" said the signorino rather anxiously. "I should scarcely call her that, though of course she is a good deal older than either of us."
"Either of us!" Goneril looked up astounded. Could the signorino have suddenly gone mad?
He blushed a little under his brown skin, that had reminded her of a coffee-bean.
"She is a good ten years older than I am," he explained.