The gentleman descended into the depth of his consciousness for some other subject, and came up with—
“Have you ever been to Bologna, ma’am?”
“No,” she replied; “but I have eaten Bologna sausage.”
There was another silence. The young woman folded her hands, looked modest, and awaited the next remark. It was rather slow in coming, and feeble when it came. “There are a great many Americans in Rome this winter, I believe.”
“Oh!” she said confidentially, “nothing to what there are in the United States. The country is full of them. They bother the life out of the foreigners.”
Mr. Coleman contemplated his
companion’s serious face for some time with bewilderment, and at length bethought himself to smile.
“I beg your pardon!” she said, looking at him inquiringly, and with a mild surprise.
He instantly became crimson.
“I—that is, excuse me! I did not speak,” he stammered.