But his “Eccellenza” would do neither; sooth to say, he was not in the best of humors, and curtly said, “No, I want nothing but post-horses to get out of this wretched place.”
“Is n't that like an Englishman?” said a voice from the vetturino carriage to some one beside him.
“But I know him,” cried the other, leaping out. “It's the new Viscount Lackington.” And with this he approached the carriage, and respectfully removing his hat, said, “How d'ye do, my Lord?”
“Ah, Spicer! you here?” said Beecher, half haughtily. “Off to England, I suppose?”
“No, my Lord, I 'm bound for Rome.”
“So are we, too. Lady Lackington and myself,” added be, correcting at once a familiar sort of a glance that Spicer found time to bestow upon Lizzy. “Do you happen to know if Lady Georgina is there?”
“Yes, my Lord, at the Palazzo Gondi, on the Pintian;” and here Spicer threw into his look an expression of respectful homage to her Ladyship.
“Palazzo Gondi; will you try and remember that address?” said Beecher to his wife. And then, waving his hand to Spicer, he added, “Good-bye,—meet you at Rome some of these days,” and was gone.