‘Very well, if you don’t mind staying alone, I will drive out myself and leave a business message for the chief, and then I can take a vacation with a clear conscience. I have a matter to consult your uncle about, and I shall be very glad to run out to the villa.’ He raised his hat in a sufficiently friendly bow and departed.
When he returned, an hour later, he found Marcia feeding the dog with sausage amid an appreciative group of porters, one of whom had procured the meat.
‘Oh, dear!’ she cried. ‘I hoped Marcellus would have finished his meal before you came back. But you aren’t so particular about etiquette as the contessa,’ she added, ‘and don’t object to feeding dogs in the station?’
‘I dare say the poor beast was hungry.’
‘Hungry! I had a whole kilo of sausage, and you should have seen it disappear.’
‘These facchini look as if they would not be averse to sharing his meal.’
‘Poor fellows, they do look hungry.’ Marcia produced her purse and handed them a lira apiece. ‘Because I haven’t any luggage for you to carry, and because you like my dog,’ she explained in Italian. ‘Don’t tell Uncle Howard,’ she added in English. ‘I don’t believe one lira can make them paupers.’
‘It would doubtless be difficult to pauperize them any more than they are at present,’ he agreed.
‘You don’t believe in Uncle Howard’s ideas of charity, do you?’ she inquired tentatively.
‘Oh, not entirely; but we don’t quarrel over it.—Perhaps,’ he suggested, ‘we’d better go out and find an empty compartment while the guards are not looking. I fear they might object to Marcellus—is that his name?—occupying a first-class carriage.’