She was making a rainbow shawl of seven colours and an intricate pattern, and she had to count her stitches; conversation was impossible.

Constance, vaguely restless, picked up a book and laid it down, and finally sauntered out to the terrace with no thought in the world but to see the moon rise over the mountains.
As she approached the parapet she became aware that some one was lounging on the water-steps smoking a cigarette.

The smoker rose politely but ventured no remark.
'Is that you, Giuseppe ?' she asked in Italian.
'No, signorina.

It is I--Tony.

I am waiting for orders.' 'For orders!' There was astonishment as well as indignation in her tone.
'I thought I made it clear----' 'That I was discharged?
Yes, signorina.