“Everything–quite frankly everything. They have grown tired of their hotel; they speak nothing but English and don’t know a soul. They came to find out from me how to go about getting a house and servants, horses and carriage.”
“Did they think that was part of a consul’s duty?”
“They didn’t think. They cast themselves on the breast of a fellow-countryman. They caught at a plank.”
“A house, horses. They are rich, then.”
“So one would judge. Oh, yes, they’re rich in a jolly, shameless, old-fashioned American way.”
“Well, it’s a nice way.” Mrs. Foss added limitingly: “When they’re also generous. One has noticed, however, hasn’t one,”–she seemed on second thought to be taking 7back something of her approval,–“a certain reticence, as a rule, with regard to the display of wealth in people of any real culture?”
“These aren’t, my dear. It’s as plain as that they’re rich. And, for a change, let me whisper to you, I found it pleasant. Not one tiresome word about art did they utter in connection with this, their first, visit to Italy.”
“I can see you liked them, but what you have so far said doesn’t entirely help me to see why. Rich and ignorant Americans, unfortunately–A light breaks upon me! They were pretty!”
A twinkle came into the consul’s eyes, looking over at his wife, as one is amused sometimes by a joke old and obvious.
His pause before answering seemed filled with an effort to visualize the persons in question.