There was not much in them in the way of eloquence--a sailor's picturesque phrase--she had heard something like it before.

But there had been strength, and the power to do, and the will to act in every intonation of his speech.

She remembered every word San Miniato had spoken, far better than he would remember it himself in a day or two, and she was ready to analyse and criticise now what had charmed and pleased her a moment earlier.

Why was he going over it all to her mother, like a lesson learnt and repeated?
She was so glad to be alone--she would have been so glad to think alone of what she had taken for the most delicious moment of her young life.

If he were really in earnest, he would feel as she did and would have said at once that it was late and time to be going home--he would have invented any excuse to escape the interview which her mother would try to force upon him.