Carolyn Stokes and myself will never be able to decide which of us took the initiative, which gripped at the other and used some amount of force. We discovered ourselves in the nearest room, where an elderly gentleman was about to retire to rest; I had never thought the time would come when I should be thankful for not understanding a foreign language. The young man rushed by; we made our escape just as the aged person was about to throw a hair brush.
We tried to persuade ourselves, in walking along the side of the river, that all was well that ended well. Carolyn Stokes said the experience was one she wished never to undergo again, and for some reason reproached me. We walked as far as the Trinity Bridge, turned to the left, found ourselves in the Via del Moro, came later to the Piazza de St. Maria Novello, took what we thought would be a short cut for the hotel, and lost ourselves. Carolyn Stokes asked the way of two or three people in tones quite loud enough to enable them to understand, but success did not crown her efforts.
“Why, here you are!” cried an English voice. We turned, and for the moment we both forgot how anxious we had been not to meet him. “Now, how in the world did I manage to miss you? My fault, I’m sure.”
“It would be kind of you,” said Carolyn Stokes with reserve, “to put us in the right direction for our hotel.”
“But, of course, I’ll see you back there with the greatest pleasure. Unless you like to allow me, even now, to show you round the town. As a matter of fact, the hotel is just round the corner. There’s the Garibaldi statue.”
“I am somewhat fatigued,” she said, “and I would prefer to return.”
“And you?” he said, turning to me.
“There has been a mistake made,” I answered resolutely. “We took you for somebody else. You must allow us to close the acquaintance here and now.”
“No idea I had a double,” he remarked. “This matter must be looked into or complications may ensue.”
“We jumped to the conclusion that you were the son of the lady you are travelling with.”