Miss Abbott uttered some noise of greeting or alarm. He did not reply to it or approach nearer to her. Without even paying the cabman, he escaped into the street.
“Tear each other’s eyes out!” he cried, gesticulating at the facade of the hotel. “Give it to her, Harriet! Teach her to leave us alone. Give it to her, Caroline! Teach her to be grateful to you. Go it, ladies; go it!”
Such people as observed him were interested, but did not conclude that he was mad. This aftermath of conversation is not unknown in Italy.
He tried to think how amusing it was; but it would not do—Miss Abbott’s presence affected him too personally. Either she suspected him of dishonesty, or else she was being dishonest herself. He preferred to suppose the latter. Perhaps she had seen Gino, and they had prepared some elaborate mortification for the Herritons. Perhaps Gino had sold the baby cheap to her for a joke: it was just the kind of joke that would appeal to him. Philip still remembered the laughter that had greeted his fruitless journey, and the uncouth push that had toppled him on to the bed. And whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott’s presence spoilt the comedy: she would do nothing funny.
During this short meditation he had walked through the city, and was out on the other side. “Where does Signor Carella live?” he asked the men at the Dogana.
“I’ll show you,” said a little girl, springing out of the ground as Italian children will.
“She will show you,” said the Dogana men, nodding reassuringly. “Follow her always, always, and you will come to no harm. She is a trustworthy guide. She is my
daughter.”
cousin.”
sister.”
Philip knew these relatives well: they ramify, if need be, all over the peninsula.
“Do you chance to know whether Signor Carella is in?” he asked her.