mpounded with Customs
officials, who bowed low before him, he took part in the midnight
scramble for pillows at Modane, emerging from the crowd in triumph
with no less than three of the coveted aids to repose under his arm,
and he saw Olive comfortably settled in another compartment with two
motherly German women, and there left her.

At Turin he secured places in the _diretto_ to Florence, and sent his
man to the buffet for coffee and rolls, and the two broke their fast
together.

"Italy and the joy of life," Olive said lightly, as she lifted her
cup, and he looked at her with melancholy brown eyes that yet held the
ghost of a smile.

"The passing hour," he answered; adding prosaically, "This is good
coffee."

Referring to the grey silvery trees whose name she bore he assured
her that he did not think she resembled them. "They are old and you
seem eternally young. You should have been called Primavera."

She laughed. "Ah, if you had been my godfather--"

"I should not have cared to have held you in my arms when you were a
bald-headed baby," he answered with perfect gravity.

Apparently he always said what he thought, but his frankness was
disconcerting, and Olive changed the subject.

"Is Siena beautiful?"

"It is a gem of the Renaissance, and you will love it as I do, I know,
but I wish you could have seen Florence first. My brother has a villa
at Settignano and I am going there now. The fruit trees in the orchard
will be all white with blossom. You remember Romeo's April oath: 'By
yonder moon that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--'"

They lunched in the station restaurant at Genoa, and there he bought
the girl a basket of fruit. "A poor substitute for the tea you will be
wanting presently," he explained. "You have no tea-basket with you?
You will want one if you are going to live with Italians."

"I never thought of it."

"May I send you one?" he asked eagerly. "Do let me."

Olive flushed with pleasure. No one had been so kind to her since her
mother died. Evidently he liked her--oh! he liked her very much. She
suddenly realised how much she would miss him when they parted at
Florence and she had to go on alone. It had been so good to be with
someone stronger than herself who would take care of her. He had
seemed happy too, and she thought he looked younger now than he did
when she first saw him standing by the bookstall at Victoria station.

"It is very good of you," she said. "I should