He was carelessly dressed and wore a flannel shirt, but there was an odd look of mingled refinement and barbarity about him that arrested the girl's attention.

He sat very quietly in his chair, reserved both in speech and in manner; but when she forced him to talk he spoke impetuously and with almost savage emphasis, in a broken dialect that amused her immensely.
"You can't be American," she said.
"I am Sicilian," was the proud answer.
"That's what I thought; Sicilian or Italian or Spanish; but I'm glad it's Sicilian, which is the same as Italian.

I can't speak your lingo myself," she continued, "although I am studying it hard; but you manage the English pretty well, so we shall get along famously together." He did not answer for a moment, but searched her unconscious face with his keen eyes.

Then he demanded, brusquely: "Where do you go ?" "Why, to Europe," she replied, as if surprised.
"Europe?
Pah! It is no answer at all," he responded, angrily.

"Europe is big.