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"I go in because it is my mestiere, Signorina," the boy said, simply.
"I go in by force."
He looked at her and then again at the cigarettes. His expression
said, "Can you refuse me?" There was a quite definite and conscious
attempt to cajole her to generosity in his eyes, and in the pose he
assumed. Vere saw it, and knew that if there had been a mirror within
reach at that moment the boy would have been looking into it, frankly
admiring himself.
In Italy the narcissus blooms at all seasons of the year.
She was charmed by the boy, for he did his luring well, and she was
susceptible to all that was naturally picturesque. But a gay little
spirit of resistance sprang up like a flame and danced within her.
She let her hands fall to her sides.
"But you like going in?"
"Signorina?"
"You enjoy diving?"
He shrugged his shoulders, and again used what seemed with him a
favorite expression.
"Signorina, I must enjoy it, by force."
"You do it wonderfully. Do you know that? You do it better than the
men.


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