"I cannot help it, dear lady. It is my mother's fault. She was so very
precise. I was carefully brought up."
"That is a pity, Mr. Keith."
"Northern people are very precise," said Don Francesco, folding his
gown around his ample limbs. "Particularly in love affairs. We down
here, who live in this sirocco, are supposed to be calculating and
mercenary in matters of the heart. We want dowries for our
daughters--they say we are always coming to the point: money, money! The
capacity of an English girl for coming to the point will take some
beating. She paralyses you with directness. I will tell you a true
story. There was a young Italian whom I knew--yes, I knew him well. He
had just arrived in London; very handsome in the face, though perhaps a
little too fat. He fell in love with an elegant young lady who was
employed in the establishment of Madame Elise in Bond Street. He used
to wait for her to come out at six o'clock and follow her like a dog,
not daring to speak. He carried a costly bracelet for her in his
pocket, and every day fresh flowers, which he was always too shy and
too deeply enamoured to present.
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