Why, he asked himself excitedly, _why_ had they come?
The Signor Papa closed his green umbrella, and having dropped into a chair--obligingly near the summer-house--took off his hat and fanned himself.

He had a tendency toward being stout, and felt the heat.

The girl, meanwhile, crossed the court and jangled the bell; she waited two--three--minutes, then she pulled the rope again.
'Gustavo! Oh, Gustavo!' The bell might have been rung by any one--the fisherman, the omnibus-driver, Suor Celestina from the convent asking her everlasting alms--and Gustavo took his time.

But the voice was unmistakable; he waited only to throw a clean napkin over his arm before hurrying to answer.
'_Buon giorno_, signorina! Good morning, signore.

It is beautiful wea-thir, but warm.