s Honeychurch, you will catch a chill! And Mr. Beebe here
besides. Who would suppose this is Italy? There is my sister actually
nursing the hot-water can; no comforts or proper provisions."

She sidled towards them and sat down, self-conscious as she always was
on entering a room which contained one man, or a man and one woman.

"I could hear your beautiful playing, Miss Honeychurch, though I was in
my room with the door shut. Doors shut; indeed, most necessary. No one
has the least idea of privacy in this country. And one person catches it
from another."

Lucy answered suitably. Mr. Beebe was not able to tell the ladies of
his adventure at Modena, where the chambermaid burst in upon him in his
bath, exclaiming cheerfully, "Fa niente, sono vecchia." He contented
himself with saying: "I quite agree with you, Miss Alan. The Italians
are a most unpleasant people. They pry everywhere, they see everything,
and they know what we want before we know it ourselves. We are at their
mercy. They read our thoughts, they foretell our desires. From the
cab-driver down to--to Giotto, they turn us inside out, and I resent
it. Yet in their heart of hearts they are--how superficial! They have no
conception of the intellectual life. How right is Signora Bertolini, who
exclaimed to me the other day: 'Ho, Mr. Beebe, if you knew what I suffer
over the children's edjucaishion. HI won't 'ave my little Victorier
taught by a hignorant Italian what can't explain nothink!'"

Miss Alan did not follow, but gathered that she was being mocked in an
agreeable way. Her sister was a little disappointed in Mr. Beebe, having
expected better things from a clergyman whose head was bald and who
wore a pair of russet whiskers. Indeed, who would have supposed that
tolerance, sympathy, and a sense of humour would inhabit that militant
form?

In the midst of her satisfaction she continued to sidle, and at last
the cause was disclosed. From the chair beneath her she extracted
a gun-metal cigarette-case, on which were powdered in turquoise the
initials "E. L."

"That belongs to Lavish." said the clergyman. "A good fellow, Lavish,
but I wish she'd start a pipe."

"Oh, Mr. Beebe," said Miss Alan, divided between awe and mirth. "Indeed,
though it is dreadful for her to smoke, it is not quite as dreadful as
you suppose. She took to it, practically in despair, after her
life's work was carried away in a landslip. Surely that makes it more
excusable."

"What was