You
must never, never tell. How do I look? Will I make a good peasant, when
once the dear sun has browned my hands and forehead, and I have grown
Italianized?" And she lifted her face, into which the saucy gaiety had
returned, up to him temptingly.
His warm blood was kindled. "You are a little child of the sun-god now,"
he exclaimed, passionately. "May I share some of your days in heaven? I
am ordered to Naples tomorrow night; shall be only twelve hours behind
you. May I come on the day after to see you in your new home?"
"O, how delightful! But, perhaps, my lord, our little cottage by the sea
isn't grand enough for your spurs and buttons and glory. We are simple
folks you know,--peasants all,--but our hearts, Signor, they are
hospitable, and such as we have we will gladly give you. What do you say
to the bay of Naples, and oranges for our luncheon day after tomorrow?"
And Mae laughed lightly and joyously. Her little burnt taper fell to
the ground, and she clasped her hands together.
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