A good idea, is it not?"
"A splendid idea," Olga answered, with a laugh.
"Ah! England is a great country! But, Miss Hannaford, there is one
thing in which the Italian is not inferior to the Englishman. May I
say what that is?"
"There are many things, I am sure----"
"But there is one thing--that is Love!"
Olga walked on, head bent, and Florio enveloped her in his gaze.
"To-day I say no more, Miss Hannaford. I had something to tell you,
and I have told it. When I have something more to tell we shall meet
--oh, I am sure we shall meet."
"You are staying in England for some time?" said Olga, as if in
ordinary conversation.
"For a little time; I come, I go. I have, you know, my affairs, my
business. How is your friend, the admirable artist, the charming
Miss Bonnicastle?"
"Oh, very well, always well."
"Yes, the English ladies they have wonderful health--I admire
them; but there is one I admire most of all."
A few remarks more, of like tenor, and they drew near again to the
Marble Arch. With bows and compliments and significant looks, Mr.
Florio walked briskly away in search of an omnibus.
Olga, her eyes cast down as she turned homeward, was not aware that
someone who had held her in sight for a long time grew gradually
near, until he stepped to her side. It was Mr. Kite. He looked at
her with a melancholy smile on his long, lank face, and, when at
length the girl saw him, took off his shabby hat respectfully.
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