ould have supposed.

"Willingly would I purchase--" began Miss Bartlett.

"Ignore him," said Mr. Eager sharply, and they all walked rapidly away
from the square.

But an Italian can never be ignored, least of all when he has a
grievance. His mysterious persecution of Mr. Eager became relentless;
the air rang with his threats and lamentations. He appealed to Lucy;
would not she intercede? He was poor--he sheltered a family--the tax on
bread. He waited, he gibbered, he was recompensed, he was dissatisfied,
he did not leave them until he had swept their minds clean of all
thoughts whether pleasant or unpleasant.

Shopping was the topic that now ensued. Under the chaplain's guidance
they selected many hideous presents and mementoes--florid little
picture-frames that seemed fashioned in gilded pastry; other little
frames, more severe, that stood on little easels, and were carven out
of oak; a blotting book of vellum; a Dante of the same material; cheap
mosaic brooches, which the maids, next Christmas, would never tell from
real; pins, pots, heraldic saucers, brown art-photographs; Eros and
Psyche in alabaster; St. Peter to match--all of which would have cost
less in London.

This successful morning left no pleasant impressions on Lucy. She had
been a little frightened, both by Miss Lavish and by Mr. Eager, she knew
not why. And as they frightened her, she had, strangely enough, ceased
to respect them. She doubted that Miss Lavish was a great artist. She
doubted that Mr. Eager was as full of spirituality and culture as she
had been led to suppose. They were tried by some new test, and they were
found wanting. As for Charlotte--as for Charlotte she was exactly the
same. It might be possible to be nice to her; it was impossible to love
her.

"The son of a labourer; I happen to know it for a fact. A mechanic of
some sort himself when he was young; then he took to writing for the
Socialistic Press. I came across him at Brixton."

They were talking about the Emersons.

"How wonderfully people rise in these days!" sighed Miss Bartlett,
fingering a model of the leaning Tower of Pisa.

"Generally," replied Mr. Eager, "one has only sympathy for their
success. The desire for education and for social advance--in these
things there is something not wholly vile. There are some working men
whom one would be very willing to see out here in Florence--little as
they would make of it."

"Is he a journalist now?" Miss Bartlett aske