It's too bad of Gustavo! I shall never place any faith in his judgment again.

You may talk English to the man if you like; I shall address him in nothing but Italian.' As they rose from the table she suggested pessimistically, 'Let's go and look at the donkeys--I suppose they'll be horrid, scraggly, knock-kneed little beasts.' They turned out, however, to be unusually attractive, as donkeys go, and they were innocently engaged in nibbling, not rose leaves, but grass, under the tutelage of a barefoot boy.

Constance patted their shaggy mouse-coloured noses, made the acquaintance of the boy, whose name was Beppo, and looked about for the driver proper.

He rose and bowed as she approached.

His appearance was even more violently spectacular than she had ordered; Gustavo had given good measure.
He wore a loose white shirt--immaculately white--with a red silk handkerchief knotted about his throat, brown corduroy knee-breeches, and a red cotton sash with the hilt of a knife conspicuously protruding.