Now, as he stealthily turned, preparing to re-descend in the direction whence he had come, the loose stone beneath his foot slipped and he slipped with it.

Five startled pairs of eyes were turned in his direction.

What they saw, was a young man in flannels suddenly throw up his arms, slide into an azalea bush, from this to the balustrade, and finally land on all fours on the narrow strip of beach, a shower of pink petals and crumbling masonry falling about him.

A momentary silence followed; then the washer-girls, making sure that he was not injured, broke into a shrill chorus of laughter, while the _Farfalla_ rocked under impact of Giuseppe's mirth.
The girl on the wall alone remained grave.
The young man picked himself up, restored his guide book to his pocket, and blushingly stepped forward, hat in hand, to make an apology.

One knee bore a splash of mud, and his tumbled hair was sprinkled with azalea blossoms.
"I beg your pardon," he stammered, "I didn't mean to come so suddenly; I'm afraid I broke your wall." The girl dismissed the matter with a polite gesture.
"It was already broken," and then she waited with an air of grave attention until he should state his errand.
"I--I came--" He paused and glanced about vaguely; he could not at the moment think of any adequate reason to account for his coming.
"Yes ?" Her eyes studied him with what appeared at once a cool and an amused scrutiny.