“And so unfortunately must I,” he sighed resignedly. “But the dance club, to watch you being ogled by an amorous Hindoo! I shudder. Anne, Anne, when will you put an end to my misery? Leave this, what do you call it, half-baked existence. Come with me to Florence, to Sicily. Let us lead a fuller life. A life of travel and repose, with a horizon wide enough for study and meditation, and an occasional oasis, if you desire, of theaters and dance clubs. Let our friends be those who dare to think and to do, who have learned to appreciate the exquisiteness of leisure, and not to fritter it away. You Americans treat an idle hour as if it were a horrible void that might engulf you if you didn’t diligently fill it in with little nothings.”
Much amused, Anne lit a cigarette.
“A proposal and a sermon in one breath! Really, Vittorio, you are certainly an original. You come all the way from Italy to drag me back to your prehistoric caves and then preach to me in a thoroughly mediæval and unprehistoric manner. You spoil your own effects. I had almost made up my mind to return to Florence before Christmas—but now!”
She rolled her eyes and gestured comically.
“Don’t be capricious, Anne darling. You know I’m no preacher. And you would look adorable attired in white linen knickerbockers, riding on the back of a donkey——”
“Supporting a heavy white umbrella with one hand, and brushing off a horde of cannibalistic flies with the other—so restful and inspiring!” Anne blew smoke rings into his eager, dark face.
“There are no flies in winter, and where I’ve been working it is sometimes very cold. The white umbrella would be entirely unnecessary. My villa is an antique dream of old-rose marble and its terrace and garden seem to sweep right out into the ardent blue of the sea.”
“What about modern improvements?” inquired Anne flippantly. But at his description her pupils had expanded, her whole face had taken on a softer, more rested, expression.
“There is a bath,” he replied simply. “But of course no electricity. Hanging lamps and an army of candles shed a soft benediction over the old walls. I promise you, you will be very comfortable. It is a foolish gardener who transplants an exotic into the soil of unprotected fields.”
He leaned forward earnestly. Her eyes cloudy with feeling, she laid her hand upon his.