The road was level and smooth, now that the rough streets of the city lay behind them, and there was nothing to think of until after reaching Empoli. Armstrong had been running the machine, and he turned his head just in time to hear Inez’ last remark.
“I can imagine what the conversation is, even though I have not heard much of it,” he said, “and I am sure that I agree with Miss Thayer. How about getting back to our work at the library to-morrow?” he added.
Inez flushed at the suddenness of the question, and Helen caught her breath. The time for her decision, then, was near at hand.
“I am as eager as you are to resume it,” replied Inez, her face lighting with pleasure.
“Then it is all arranged,” Armstrong said, decisively. “Helen and Uncle Peabody may have the machine to-morrow, and we will start in again where we left off.”
The Arno winds around and about in a hundred curves between Florence and Pisa, leaving the road for some little distance at times, but ever coming back to it in flirtatious manner. The fields stretch away between the river and the road in undulating green. Small hamlets like San Romano, La Rotta, and Navacchio, and the more pretentious settlements of Signa, Empoli, and Pontedera give variety to the ride and add by their old-time strangeness to the beauties which Nature so bountifully supplies. But the climax comes at the end of the journey, after crossing the tracks at the very modern station and the bridge which spans the Arno. Over the roofs of the quaint twelfth-century houses rise the Cathedral and the Leaning Tower and the pillared dome of the Baptistry.
The motor-car was halted in front of the little doorway of the Hôtel Nettuno, where the host appeared with all his affability, offering opportunities for removing the dust accumulated by the ride, and a choice colazione to be ready as soon as might be desired. Helen was preoccupied during the preparations for luncheon, but Inez’ excitement over her first visit to Pisa, and Armstrong’s eagerness to watch the effect of the early impressions, saved her changed demeanor from attracting any attention.
“It is hard to realize that this is the city of Ugolino and the Tower of Hunger after this sumptuous repast,” remarked Jack, lighting his cigarette with much satisfaction as coffee was being served.
“Probably the ‘Nettuno’ was not in existence at that time,” suggested Uncle Peabody.
“Is this not where the wonderful echo is to be heard?” inquired Inez.