"That lovely creature. Shouldn't you have liked to get nearer?"
"Indeed I should. That sheet of plate-glass is a great vexation."
"But why didn't you make a pretext for going into the shop? You might have bought a toothbrush."
"I don't know that I should have gained much," said Sanguinetti simply.
"You would have seen her move: her movement is charming."
"Her movement is—the poetry of motion. But I could see that outside."
"My dear fellow," I urged, "you are not enterprising enough. In your place I should get a footing in the shop."
He fixed his clear little near-sighted eyes upon me. "Yes, yes," he said, "it would certainly be delightful to be able to sit there and watch her: it would be more comfortable than standing outside."
"Je crois bien! But sitting there and watching her? You go rather far."
"I suppose I should be rather in the way. But every now and then she would turn her face toward me. And I don't know," he added, "but that she is as pretty behind as before."
"You make an observation that I made myself. She has so much chic."
