ight of some other； simpler；
more finely natural world。
But always there was a foreboding waiting to mand her。 She
became more aware of Skrebensky。 She knew he was waking up。 She
must modify her soul； depart from her further world； for
him。
She knew he was awake。 He lay still； with a concrete
stillness； not as when he slept。 Then his arm tightened almost
convulsively upon her； and he said； half timidly：
〃Did you sleep well？〃
〃Very well。〃
〃So did I。〃
There was a pause。
〃And do you love me？〃 he asked。
She turned and looked at him searchingly。 He seemed outside
her。
〃I do；〃 she said。
But she said it out of placency and a desire not to be
harried。 There was a curious breach of silence between them；
which frightened him。
They lay rather late； then he rang for breakfast。 She wanted
to be able to go straight downstairs and away from the place；
when she got up。 She was happy in this room； but the thought of
the publicity of the hall downstairs rather troubled her。
A young Italian； a Sicilian； dark and slightly pock…marked；
buttoned up in a sort of grey tunic； appeared with the tray。 His
face had an almost African imperturbability； impassive；
inprehensible。
〃One might be in Italy；〃 Skrebensky said to him； genially。 A
vacant look； almost like fear； came on the fellow's face。 He did
not understand。
〃This is like Italy；〃 Skrebensky explained。
The face of the Italian flashed with a non…prehending
smile； he finished setting out the tray； and was gone。 He did
not understand： he would understand nothing： he disappeared from
the door like a half…