DOI article:
Harland, Henry: Rosemary for remembrance
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21806#0091
By Henry Harland 87
“ Eighteen then.”
“ I shall be nineteen in July.”
VIII
Before the brilliant shop-windows of the Toledo we dallied for
an hour or more, Zabetta’s eyes sparkling with delight as they
rested on the bright-hued silks, the tortoise-shell and coral, the
gold and silver filagree-work, that were there displayed. But when
she admired some one particular object above another, and I
besought her to let me buy it for her, she refused austerely.
uBut no, no, no 1 It is impossible.” Then we went on to the
Villa, and strolled by the sea-wall, between the blue-green water
and the multicoloured procession of people in carriages. And by
and by Zabetta confessed that she was tired, and proposed that we
should sit down on one of the benches. “ A cafe would be better
fun,” submitted her companion. And we placed ourselves at one
of the out-of-door tables of the cafe in the garden, where, after
some urging, I prevailed upon Zabetta to drink a cup of chocolate.
Meanwhile, with the ready confidence of youth, we had each been
desultorily autobiographical; and if our actual acquaintance was
only the affair of an afternoon, I doubt if in a year we could have
feit that we knew each other better.
“ I must go home,” Zabetta said at last.
“ Oh, not yet, not yet,” cried I.
“It will be dinner-time. I must go home to dinner.”
“ But your father is at Capri. You will have to dine alone.”
“ Yes.”
“ Then don’t. Come with me instead, and chne at a res-
taurant.”
Her
“ Eighteen then.”
“ I shall be nineteen in July.”
VIII
Before the brilliant shop-windows of the Toledo we dallied for
an hour or more, Zabetta’s eyes sparkling with delight as they
rested on the bright-hued silks, the tortoise-shell and coral, the
gold and silver filagree-work, that were there displayed. But when
she admired some one particular object above another, and I
besought her to let me buy it for her, she refused austerely.
uBut no, no, no 1 It is impossible.” Then we went on to the
Villa, and strolled by the sea-wall, between the blue-green water
and the multicoloured procession of people in carriages. And by
and by Zabetta confessed that she was tired, and proposed that we
should sit down on one of the benches. “ A cafe would be better
fun,” submitted her companion. And we placed ourselves at one
of the out-of-door tables of the cafe in the garden, where, after
some urging, I prevailed upon Zabetta to drink a cup of chocolate.
Meanwhile, with the ready confidence of youth, we had each been
desultorily autobiographical; and if our actual acquaintance was
only the affair of an afternoon, I doubt if in a year we could have
feit that we knew each other better.
“ I must go home,” Zabetta said at last.
“ Oh, not yet, not yet,” cried I.
“It will be dinner-time. I must go home to dinner.”
“ But your father is at Capri. You will have to dine alone.”
“ Yes.”
“ Then don’t. Come with me instead, and chne at a res-
taurant.”
Her