Lizzie. That's the one they call the "Bridge o' Sighs," ain't it? (Hazily.) Is that because there's shops on it?
Jem. I dessay. Shops—or else suicides.
Lizzie (more hazily than ever). Ah, the same as the Monument. (They walk on with a sense of mental enlargement.)
Mrs. Lavender Salt. It's wonderfully like the real thing, LAVENDER, isn't it? Of course they can't quite get the true Venetian atmosphere!
Mr. L.S. Well, MIMOSA, they'd have the Sanitary Authorities down on them if they did, you know!
Mrs. L.S. Oh, you're so horribly unromantic! But, LAVENDER, couldn't we get one of those gondolas and go about. It would be so lovely to be in one again, and fancy ourselves back in dear Venice, now wouldn't it?
Mr. L.S. The illusion is cheap at sixpence; so come along, MIMOSA!
[He secures, tickets, and presently the LAVENDER SALTS, find themselves part of a long queue, being marshalled between barriers by Italian gendarmes in a state of politely suppressed amusement.
Mrs. L.S. (over her shoulder to her husband, as she imagines). I'd no idea we should have to go through all this! Must we really herd in with all these people? Can't we two manage to get a gondola all to ourselves?
A Voice (not LAVENDER's—in her ear). I'm sure I'm 'ighly flattered, Mum, but I'm already suited; yn't I, DYSY?