"Come along with me, Arden," he said at last, as though losing patience with everything all at once. "Let us go to Paris or Timbuctoo. This place is not fit to live in."
"What is the matter with it?" asked Arden, in a tone of amusement.
"The matter with it? It is dull, to begin with. Secondly, it is a perfect witches' caldron of scandal. Thirdly, we are all as bad as we can be. There are three points at least."
"My dear fellow, I do not see them in the same light. Take some more hock."
"Oh, you—you are amusing yourself! Thank you—I will—half a glass. Of course you like Rome—you always did—you foreigners always will. You amuse yourselves—that is it."
"I see you dancing every night as though you liked it," observed Arden.
"No doubt!"
Ghisleri suddenly grew thoughtful and a distant look came into his eyes, while the shadows seemed to deepen under them, till they were almost black. He had eaten hardly anything, and now, regardless of the fact that the meal was not half over, he lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair as though he had finished.
"You are not looking well, Arden," he said at last. "You must take care of yourself. Take my advice. We will go somewhere together for a couple of months."
"There is nothing I should like better, but not just at present. I will stay in Rome until the weather is a little warmer."