Then he sighed a little and moved restlessly about the room. “For Raoul,” he murmured, “I am not so sure. Capri isn’t very gay.” This was the second time Léon had mentioned the lack of this quality in Capri, and neither time had Rose paid any attention to it. She was not a Frenchwoman, and she had no idea that Léon attached any particular weight to the idea of gaiety. Léon kissed her again. This time he did it a little remorsefully. They were to have tea in the garden under the almond blossom trees. Léon was to go into Capri and return early with cakes and roses, but before he went he inspected Rose’s dressing table. He frowned helplessly at her dreadful lack of accessories. “Before she goes,” he explained to Rose, “Madame will no doubt wish to tidy her hair and readjust her veil. Why is it you have nothing here?” Rose gazed at him. “But, Léon,” she said gently, “I have pins and brushes.” Léon exploded suddenly into one of his picturesque whiffs of anger. “Mon Dieu! Are you a woman at all?” he exclaimed. “You have no powder, no rouge, no scent. You have nothing here on your dressing table that a woman should have! Oh, you everlasting creature of soap and fresh air! How can I explain you? How can I explain anything? I shall go mad!” Afterwards he calmed down. He would, he explained, buy what he could get at Capri. Fortunately Rose did have silver-topped boxes and bottles; these could be filled to look as natural as possible. Rose agreed; she would have agreed to anything to please him, but she was surprised at the amount of things Léon apparently considered a Frenchwoman would find necessary in order to reassume her veil and tidy her hair after a tea-party. Besides, Rose didn’t like scent. At half-past four Madame Gérard appeared, her husband strolling a little behind her. Two impressions flashed simultaneously upon Rose; one was that Madame Gérard, though distinctly smart, wasn’t particularly pretty, and the other, that in spite of her lovely clothes, her new husband, and the romance of Capri, she hadn’t got happy eyes. Her other impressions of Madame Gérard she formed more slowly. Monsieur Gérard she instantly and wholly disliked. He was much older than his wife, and had a bored, conceited air, and rather thick red lips. He stared a great deal at Rose, and said several times over, when Léon introduced him to her, that he was very much impressed. Madame was charming; she was charming about the garden, about the tea, about the wonderful English nation, and about Capri; but she was charming in Parisian French. Neither of the Gérards knew a word of English, and Madame spoke in a cascade of little soft, vanishing sounds, the significance of which poor nervous, attentive Rose couldn’t possibly catch.