He glanced up with an air of flattered diffidence and rendered, in a conversational inflection, an excerpt from the Anglo-Saxon Bible.
"_Ealle gesceafta, heofonas and englas, sunnan and monan, steorran and eorthan, he gesceop and geworhte on six dagum._" "It is a very beautiful language.

Say some more." He replied with glib promptness, with a passage from Beowulf.
"_Hie dygel lond warigeath, wulfhleothu, windige naessas._" "What does that mean ?" Tony looked embarrassed.
"I don't believe you know!" "It means--_scusi_, signorina, I no like to say." "You don't know." "It means--you make me say, signorina,--'I sink you ver' beautiful like ze angels in Paradise.'" "Indeed! A donkey-driver, Tony, should not say anything like that." "But it is true." "The more reason you should not say it." "You asked me, signorina; I could not tell you a lie." The signorina smiled slightly and looked away at the view; Tony seized the opportunity to look sidewise at her.

She turned back and caught him; he dropped his eyes humbly to the floor.
"Does Beppo speak Magyar ?" she inquired.
"Beppo ?" There was wonder in his tone at the turn her questions were taking.

"I sink not, signorina." "That must be very inconvenient.

Why don't you teach it to him ?" "_Si_, signorina." He was plainly nonplussed.
"Yes, he says that you are his father and I should think--" "His father ?" Tony appeared momentarily startled; then he laughed.