Lilly eyed the suit.

“Very nice. Very nice indeed. Such a good cloth! That makes all the difference.”

“Oh, my dear fellow, all the difference! This suit is eleven years old—eleven years old. But beautiful English cloth—before the war, before the war!”

“It looks quite wonderfully expensive and smart now,” said Lilly.

“Expensive and smart, eh! Ha–ha–ha! Well, it cost me a hundred and twenty francs to have it turned, and I found that expensive enough. Well, now, come—” here Argyle’s voice took on a new gay cheer. “A whiskey and soda, Lilly? Say when! Oh, nonsense, nonsense! You’re going to have double that. You’re no lily of the valley here, remember. Not with me. Not likely. Siamo nel paradiso, remember.”

“But why should we drink your whiskey? Tea would do for us just as well.”

“Not likely! Not likely! When I have the pleasure of your company, my boy, we drink a glass of something, unless I am utterly stripped. Say when, Aaron.”

“When,” said Aaron.

Argyle at last seated himself heavily in a small chair. The sun had left the loggia, but was glowing still on Giotto’s tower and the top of the cathedral facade, and on the remoter great red–tiled dome.

“Look at my little red monthly rose,” said Argyle. “Wonderful little fellow! I wouldn’t have anything happen to him for the world. Oh, a bacchic little chap. I made Pasquale wear a wreath of them on his hair. Very becoming they were, very.—Oh, I’ve had a charming show of flowers. Wonderful creatures sunflowers are.” They got up and put their heads over the balcony, looking down on the square below. “Oh, great fun, great fun.—Yes, I had a charming show of flowers, charming.—Zinnias, petunias, ranunculus, sunflowers, white stocks— oh, charming. Look at that bit of honeysuckle. You see the berries where his flowers were! Delicious scent, I assure you.”

Under the little balcony wall Argyle had put square red–tiled pots, all round, and in these still bloomed a few pansies and asters, whilst in a corner a monthly rose hung flowers like round blood–drops. Argyle was as tidy and scrupulous in his tiny rooms and his balcony as if he were a first–rate sea–man on a yacht. Lilly remarked on this.

“Do you see signs of the old maid coming out in me? Oh, I don’t doubt it. I don’t doubt it. We all end that way. Age makes old maids of us all. And Tanny is all right, you say? Bring her to see me. Why didn’t she come today?”

“You know you don’t like people unless you expect them.”

“Oh, but my dear fellow!—You and Tanny; you’d be welcome if you came at my busiest moment. Of course you would. I’d be glad to see you if you interrupted me at any crucial moment.—I am alone now till August. Then we shall go away together somewhere. But you and Tanny; why, there’s the world, and there’s Lilly: that’s how I put it, my boy.”