ng jolts up through the Piazza of Fiesole and into the
Settignano road.

"Piano! piano!" said Mr. Eager, elegantly waving his hand over his head.

"Va bene, signore, va bene, va bene," crooned the driver, and whipped
his horses up again.

Now Mr. Eager and Miss Lavish began to talk against each other on the
subject of Alessio Baldovinetti. Was he a cause of the Renaissance, or
was he one of its manifestations? The other carriage was left behind. As
the pace increased to a gallop the large, slumbering form of Mr. Emerson
was thrown against the chaplain with the regularity of a machine.

"Piano! piano!" said he, with a martyred look at Lucy.

An extra lurch made him turn angrily in his seat. Phaethon, who for some
time had been endeavouring to kiss Persephone, had just succeeded.

A little scene ensued, which, as Miss Bartlett said afterwards, was
most unpleasant. The horses were stopped, the lovers were ordered to
disentangle themselves, the boy was to lose his pourboire, the girl was
immediately to get down.

"She is my sister," said he, turning round on them with piteous eyes.

Mr. Eager took the trouble to tell him that he was a liar.

Phaethon hung down his head, not at the matter of the accusation, but
at its manner. At this point Mr. Emerson, whom the shock of stopping
had awoke, declared that the lovers must on no account be separated, and
patted them on the back to signify his approval. And Miss Lavish, though
unwilling to ally him, felt bound to support the cause of Bohemianism.

"Most certainly I would let them be," she cried. "But I dare say I
shall receive scant support. I have always flown in the face of the
conventions all my life. This is what I call an adventure."

"We must not submit," said Mr. Eager. "I knew he was trying it on. He is
treating us as if we were a party of Cook's tourists."

"Surely no!" said Miss Lavish, her ardour visibly decreasing.

The other carriage had drawn up behind, and sensible Mr. Beebe
called out that after this warning the couple would be sure to behave
themselves properly.

"Leave them alone," Mr. Emerson begged the chaplain, of whom he stood
in no awe. "Do we find happiness so often that we should turn it off the
box when it happens to sit there? To be driven by lovers--A king might
envy us, and if we part them it's more like sacrilege than anything I
know."

Here the voice of Miss Bartlett was heard saying that a crowd had begun
to collect.

Mr. Eager,