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"
Artois had sat down on a sofa. He leaned back now with his hands
behind his head. He still looked at Vere, and, as he did so, he heard
the faint whisper of the sea.
"Child of nature," he said--"call yourself that. It covers any age,
and it's blessedly true."
Giulia came in at this moment with tea. She smiled again broadly on
Artois, and received and returned his greeting with the comfortable
and unembarrassed friendliness of the Italian race. As she went out
she was still smiling.
"Addio to the German gentleman with the unaesthetic ailments!" said
Artois.
An almost boyish sensation of sheer happiness invaded him. It made him
feel splendidly, untalkative. And he felt for a moment, too, as if his
intellect lay down to sleep.
"Cara Giulia!" he added, after a rapturous silence.
"What?"
"Carissima Giulia!"
"Yes, Giulia is--"
"They all are, and the island, and the house upon it, and this clear
yellow tea, and this brown toast, and this butter from Lombardy. They
all are.


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