Then we stood up, and I brushed the crumbs from my lap, and told Sam that he had a piece of green macaroni on the lapel of his coat, and after that we started toward the Piazza del Duomo, walking slowly and keeping on the shady side of the deep, narrow streets. In the Piazza Sam bought me a little bunch of blue flowers which were combined with yellow daisies, and I slipped these in under my broad sash, and after that we took the car and began our ride up to Fiesole. “I’m awfully keen to meet Miss Parrish,” said Sam, “because you like her so. She isn’t like her niece, is she?” “Oh, no!” I answered quickly, “not at all!” “Does she believe in careers for women and all that sort of rot?” asked Sam, as a fat woman who carried a baby and was followed by five children and a poodle dog, got on. “No,” I answered, and then I told him what Miss Sheila had advised. “Going to take her advice?” asked Sam, and he turned in the seat and leaned way over me until he could see under the brim of my broad hat. “I don’t know,” I answered, although I did, all suddenly and at that minute. “_Don’t_ you?” he repeated, “Oh, _Jane_!” And he looked so miserable--he really did--that I said I did know. And then I looked out of the window, although there wasn’t much to see just at that point except a tan stucco wall, with pink and blue tiles set in it. “You’re too young to bother,” said Sam, as he plaited the end of my sash which I had been careful not to sit on because I didn’t want it crushed, “but when you get along to the age when I _dare_ court you, I’ll tell _you_--” he drew a deep breath--“_Well_, you’ll see!” he ended, in a half threatening way. I didn’t answer that. “And if I hear of your _looking_ at anybody else,” he went on, “I’ll come over and fill him up with buckshot.” That made me laugh. “It’s no joke,” he said quickly, “I’m miserable over--your going off--and when I think that some one else may _make_ you like him--oh, the dickens of a lot--well, then I can’t--I simply can’t see _straight_--” “I won’t look at anybody,” I promised, “until you come--” It seemed to please him. In fact it seemed to please him so much that I had to remind him that we were in a street-car and that people might think it strange to see him kiss my hand--for he did that--but he said he didn’t give two hundred darns what they thought, and he asked me again if I meant it, and I knew I did, and I said I did; and he said, “Well, then, what’s two years?” and he slipped a funny, old hand-made ring with a garnet setting, that he had always worn, over my finger, and I let it stay there. Then we reached Fiesole, and the woman who carried a baby, called her five children and the poodle dog, and they got off and the other passengers, all in Sunday dress, followed, and then Sam and I. Miss Sheila met us at the head of the long, broad, cool, shady steps. “Hello, Sam,” she said in her dear way, “I’m glad to see you--”