We descended next morning to realise how original we were in being in the plains of Italy in July. The Fulda people and the Miss Binghams and Mrs. Portheris had prevented our noticing it before, but in the Hotel Mascigni, Via del Tritone, we seemed to have arrived at a point of arid solitude, which gave poppa a new and convincing sense of all he was going through in pursuit of Continental culture. We sat in one corner of the "Sala di mangiari" at a small square table, and in all the length and breadth and sumptuousness of that magnificent apartment—Italian hotel dining-rooms are always florid and palatial—there was only one other little square table with a cloth on it and an appearance of expectancy. The rest were heaped with chairs, bottom side up, with their legs in the air; the chandeliers were tied up in brown holland, and through a depressed and exhausted atmosphere, suggestive of magnificent occasions temporarily in eclipse, moved, with a casual languid air, a very tall waiter and a very short one. At mysterious exits to the rear occasionally appeared the form of the chef exchanging plates. It was borne in upon one that in the season the chef would be remanded to the most inviolable seclusion.
"Do you suppose Pompeii will be any worse than this?" inquired the Senator.
"Talk about Americans pervading the Continent," he continued, casting his eye over the surrounding desolation. "Where are they? I should be glad to see them. Great Scott! if it comes to that, I should be glad to see a blooming Englishman!"
It wasn't an answer to prayer, for there had been no opportunity for devotion, but at that moment the door opened and admitted Mr., Mrs., and Miss Emmeline Malt, and Miss Callis. The reunion was as rapt as the Senator and Emmeline could make it, and cordial in every other respect. Mr. Malt explained that they had come straight through from Paris, as time was beginning to press.
"We couldn't leave out Rome," he said, "on account of Mis' Malt's mother—she made such a point of our seeing the prison of Saint Paul. In her last letter she was looking forward very anxiously to our safe return to get an account of it. She's a leader in our experience meetings, and I couldn't somehow make up my mind to face her without it."
"Poppa," remarked Emmeline, "is not so foolish as he looks."
"We were just wondering," exclaimed momma, "who that table was laid for. But we never thought of you. Isn't it strange?"
We agreed that it was little short of marvellous.
The tall waiter strolled up for the commands of the Malt party. His demeanour showed that he resented the Malts, who were, nevertheless, innocent respectable people. As Emmeline ordered "café au lait pour tous" he scowled and made curious contortions with his lower jaw. "Anything else you want?" he inquired, with obvious annoyance.
"Yes," said Miss Callis. He further expressed his contempt by twisting his moustache, and waited in silent disdain.