He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. ” He came towards her with that in his face which filled her with blind terror. “Forgive me,” he said.
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