"
"Very well. Shall I take your guitar? Perhaps
you will sing."
She flushed with delight; he was critical about
music and did not often ask her to sing.
On the terrace was a broad wooden bench running
round the walls. The Gadfly chose a corner
with a good view of the hills, and Zita, seating herself
on the low wall with her feet on the bench,
leaned back against a pillar of the roof. She did
not care much for scenery; she preferred to look at
the Gadfly.
"Give me a cigarette," she said. "I don't believe
I have smoked once since you went away."
"Happy thought! It's just s-s-smoke I want
to complete my bliss."
She leaned forward and looked at him earnestly.
"Are you really happy?"
The Gadfly's mobile brows went up.
"Yes; why not? I have had a good dinner; I
am looking at one of the m-most beautiful views
in Europe; and now I'm going to have coffee and
hear a Hungarian folk-song. There is nothing the
matter with either my conscience or my digestion;
what more can man desire?"
"I know another thing you desire.
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