The man, however, made light of it. “Ech!” he said, with genial confidence. “They belong to your hotel. You will pay them to-morrow.”
“And, anyhow, my dear,” suggested Ruth, intervening, “as they're nowhere in mortal sight...”
“Don't you see that this is a trick?” Lucilla stopped her, in a heated whisper. “What you call collusion. They're lurking somewhere round a corner, so that we shall have to engage these creatures, and be let in for two fares.”
“Dear me,” murmured Ruth, admiring. “Who would have thought them so imaginative?”
Lucilla sniffed. “Oh, they're Italians,” she scornfully pointed out. “Ah, well, the gods love a cheerful victim. You will do,” she said to the man. “Take us to the Britannia.” And she motioned to Ruth to place herself under the tent.
But the man, touching his hat again, stood, very deferentially, with bent back, so as to bar the way.
“Pardon, Lordessa,” he said, “so many excuses—we are private;” while his glance, not devoid of vainglory, embracing himself and his colleague, invited attention to the spruce nautical liveries they were wearing, and to the silver badges on their arms.
For a moment Lucilla Dor stared stonily at him. “Bother!” she pronounced, with fervour, under her breath. Then her blue eyes gazed, wide and wistful, at the moonlit waters, beyond which the lamps along the Riva twinkled pallid derision. “How are we to get to Venice?” she demanded helplessly of the universe.
“We must go back for the night to the hotel here,” said Ruth.
“With no luggage? Two women alone? Never heard of such a thing,” scoffed Lucilla.