IX—FOREIGN AFFAIRS
We parted from Mr. Peter A. Chasemore at Bologna owing to a slight difference of opinion. Carolyn Stokes and myself had the notion that we should find Venice damp and possibly cold; Mr. Chasemore declared that to go home without seeing a gondola would give him a pain compared with which rheumatism might be considered a sensation of acute delight. There is no use denying the fact that we two women missed Mr. Chasemore a good deal. Confusion took place on the journey, for which I blamed Carolyn Stokes, and she blamed me. When with the assistance of luck we did reach the Belvedere our tempers were not improved by the fact that a young man and an elderly lady occupied, for the moment, the attention of the hotel people.
“Norman,” she said to him, as the proprietor eventually came to us, “you can consider yourself free for the remainder of the day.” He bowed. “Give me that; I will take charge of it.” Both Carolyn Stokes and myself noticed the name on the label as the leather case was being transferred.
I suppose the fact that there are no such titles where we come from caused the encounter to make an impression upon us; we watched her as she went up in the elevator, and noticed the special consideration paid by attendants. At home we reckon everybody to be equal, with a few exceptions, but here it was evident that to be called Lady Mirrible counted for something, and we naturally fell in with the local view. When you are in Rome you should do as the Romans do; the remark applies equally well to Florence. The young man gave way to us at the desk of the concierge, and Carolyn Stokes offered him a large smile.
“Have you come far?” she asked.
“Fairly good distance.”
“Are you going soon?”
“That doesn’t quite depend upon me,” he replied.
I mentioned when we were in our room that a considerable amount of information had not been extracted, and Carolyn Stokes said no doubt I should prove more successful in the game. I replied that this seemed highly probable, and we did not speak to each other again until the gong sounded in the corridor announcing that the meal was almost ready. Downstairs in the reading-room we encountered a nasty jar in the discovery that none of the rest of the people had dressed specially for dinner. This was one of the small difficulties caused by the absence of a man capable of making inquiries beforehand.
“I beg your pardon,” he remarked. He had taken the Herald from the table just as my hand went out; he replaced it and selected a London journal. I was determined to let Carolyn Stokes see that I could manage the situation better than she had done.