saying:

"I consider that you are bound to class him as nice, Miss Alan, after
that business of the violets."

"Violets? Oh, dear! Who told you about the violets? How do things get
round? A pension is a bad place for gossips. No, I cannot forget how
they behaved at Mr. Eager's lecture at Santa Croce. Oh, poor Miss
Honeychurch! It really was too bad. No, I have quite changed. I do NOT
like the Emersons. They are not nice."

Mr. Beebe smiled nonchalantly. He had made a gentle effort to introduce
the Emersons into Bertolini society, and the effort had failed. He was
almost the only person who remained friendly to them. Miss Lavish, who
represented intellect, was avowedly hostile, and now the Miss Alans,
who stood for good breeding, were following her. Miss Bartlett, smarting
under an obligation, would scarcely be civil. The case of Lucy was
different. She had given him a hazy account of her adventures in Santa
Croce, and he gathered that the two men had made a curious and possibly
concerted attempt to annex her, to show her the world from their own
strange standpoint, to interest her in their private sorrows and joys.
This was impertinent; he did not wish their cause to be championed by a
young girl: he would rather it should fail. After all, he knew nothing
about them, and pension joys, pension sorrows, are flimsy things;
whereas Lucy would be his parishioner.

Lucy, with one eye upon the weather, finally said that she thought the
Emersons were nice; not that she saw anything of them now. Even their
seats at dinner had been moved.

"But aren't they always waylaying you to go out with them, dear?" said
the little lady inquisitively.

"Only once. Charlotte didn't like it, and said something--quite
politely, of course."

"Most right of her. They don't understand our ways. They must find their
level."

Mr. Beebe rather felt that they had gone under. They had given up their
attempt--if it was one--to conquer society, and now the father was
almost as silent as the son. He wondered whether he would not plan a
pleasant day for these folk before they left--some expedition, perhaps,
with Lucy well chaperoned to be nice to them. It was one of Mr. Beebe's
chief pleasures to provide people with happy memories.

Evening approached while they chatted; the air became brighter; the
colours on the trees and hills were purified, and the Arno lost its
muddy solidity and began to twinkle. There were a few streaks of
bluish-green