The man flashed her a momentary glance from a pair of searching grey eyes, then dropped his gaze humbly to the ground.
'_Buon giorno_,' he said in glib Italian.
Constance studied him more intently.

There was something elusively familiar about his expression; she was sure she had seen him before.
'_Buon giorno_,' she replied in Italian.

'You have lived in the United States ?' '_Si_, signorina.' 'What is your name ?' 'I spik Angleesh,' he observed.
'I don't care if you do speak English; I prefer Italian--what is your name ?' She repeated the question in Italian.
'_Si_, signorina,' he ventured again.

An anxious look had crept to his face and he hastily turned away and commenced carrying parcels from the kitchen.

Constance looked after him, puzzled and suspicious.