“Certainly. You can give us a private room, if you like.”
“There is not a room in the house unoccupied;” and then, in a lower voice, Signor Campi murmured, “Quite impossible. Those ladies cannot dine here.”
The Englishman laughed lightly.
“You are not fond of your own countrywomen, it seems, Monsieur Campi;” and then to the hall-porter, “Keep that gondola, will you?” and then in Italian, to the larger lady in ruby plush, who might have been mother or aunt to the lovely girl in black velvet, “They have no room for us anywhere. We should have to wait ages, ages for our dinner. Shall we try a restaurant?”
“Yes, yes,” cried the girl eagerly. “Ever so much more fun. Let us go to the Black Hat. No gha megio casa per el disnar.”
“Where is the Black Hat?”
“On the Piazza. We often dine there, la Zia and I. We shan’t want the gondola, it is only five minutes’ walk.”
“Shall I engage him for the evening?”
“No, no. You are going to take us to the opera.”
“As you will.”