But Tessa had obediently put forward her lips in a moment, and kissed his cheek as he hung down his head.
“Oh, you pretty pigeon!” cried Tito, laughing, pressing her round cheeks with his hands and crushing her features together so as to give them a general impartial kiss.
Then he started up and walked away, not looking round till he was ten yards from her, when he just turned and gave a parting beck.
Tessa was looking after him, but he could see that she was making no signs of distress.
It was enough for Tito if she did not cry while he was present. The softness of his nature required that all sorrow should be hidden away from him.
“I wonder when Romola will kiss my cheek in that way?” thought Tito, as he walked along.
It seemed a tiresome distance now, and he almost wished he had not been so softhearted, or so tempted to linger in the shade. No other excuse was needed to Bardo and Romola than saying simply that he had been unexpectedly hindered; he felt confident their proud delicacy would inquire no farther.
He lost no time in getting to Ognissanti, and hastily taking some food there, he crossed the Arno by the Ponte alia Carraja, and made his way as directly as possible towards the Via de’ Bardi.
But it was the hour when all the world who meant to be in particularly good time to see the Corso were returning from the Borghi, or villages just outside the gates, where they had dined and reposed themselves; and the thoroughfares leading to the bridges were of course the issues towards which the stream of sightseers tended.