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of　Mr。　Emerson　looking　for　his　son；　nor　of　Miss　Bartlett　looking

for　Miss　Lavish；　nor　of　Miss　Lavish　looking　for　her

cigarette…case。　Like　every　true　performer；　she　was　intoxicated　by

the　mere　feel　of　the　notes：　they　were　fingers　caressing　her　own；

and　by　touch；　not　by　sound　alone；　did　she　come　to　her　desire。



Mr。　Beebe；　sitting　unnoticed　in　the　window；　pondered　this

illogical　element　in　Miss　Honeychurch；　and　recalled　the　occasion

at　Tunbridge　Wells　when　he　had　discovered　it。　It　was　at　one　of

those　entertainments　where　the　upper　classes　entertain　the　lower。

The　seats　were　filled　with　a　respectful　audience；　and　the　ladies

and　gentlemen　of　the　parish；　under　the　auspices　of　their　vicar；

sang；　or　recited；　or　imitated　the　drawing　of　a　champagne　cork。

Among　the　promised　items　was　〃Miss　Honeychurch。　Piano。

Beethoven；〃　and　Mr。　Beebe　was　wondering　whether　it　would　be

Adelaida；　or　the　march　of　The　Ruins　of　Athens；　when　his　composure

was　disturbed　by　the　opening　bars　of　Opus　III。　He　was　in　suspense

all　through　the　introduction；　for　not　until　the　pace　quickens

does　one　know　what　the　performer　intends。　With　the　roar　of　the

opening　theme　he　knew　that　things　were　going　extraordinarily；　in

the　chords　that　herald　the　conclusion　he　heard　the　hammer　strokes

of　victory。　He　was　glad　that　she　only　played　the　first　movement；

for　he　could　have　paid　no　attention　to　the　winding　intricacies　of

the　measures　of　nine…sixteen。　The　audience　clapped；　no　less

respectful。　It　was　Mr。　Beebe　who　started　the　stamping；　it　was　all

that　one　could　do。



〃Who　is　she？〃　he　asked　the　vicar　afterwards。



〃Cousin　of　one　of　my　parishioners。　I　do　not　consider　her　choice

of　a　piece　happy。　Beethoven　is　so　usually　simple　and　direct　in

his　appeal　that　it　is　sheer　perversity　to　choose　a　thing　like

that；　which；　if　anything；　disturbs。〃



〃Introduce　me。〃



〃She　will　be　delighted。　She　and　Miss　Bartlett　are　full　of　the

praises　of　your　sermon。〃



〃My　sermon？〃　cried　Mr。　Beebe。　〃Why　ever　did　she　listen　to　it？〃



When　he　was　introduced　he　understood　why；　for　Miss　Honeychurch；

disjoined　from　her　music　stool；　was　only　a　young　lady　with　a

quantity　of　dark　hair　and　a　very　pretty；　pale；　undeveloped　face。

She　loved　going　to　concerts；　she　loved　stopping　with　her　cousin；

she　loved　iced　coffee　and　meringues。　He　did　not　doubt　that　she

loved　his　sermon　also。　But　before　he　left　Tunbridge　Wells　he　made

a　remark　to　the　vicar；　which　he　now　made　to　Lucy　herself　when　she

closed　the　little　piano　and　moved　dreamily　towards　him：



〃If　Miss　Honeychurch　ever　takes　to　live　as　she　plays；　it　will　be

very　exciting　both　for　us　and　for　her。〃



Lucy　at　once　re…entered　daily　life。



〃Oh；　what　a　funny　thing！　Some　one　said　just　the　same　to　mother；

and　she　said　she　trusted　I　should　never　live　a　duet。〃



〃Doesn't　Mrs。　Honeychurch　like　music？〃



〃She　doesn't　mind　it。　But　she　doesn't　like　one　to　get　excited

over　anything；　she　thinks　I　am　silly　about　it。　She　thinksI

can't　make　out。　Once；　you　know；　I　said　that　I　liked　my　own

playing　better　than　any　one's。　She　has　never　got　over　it。　Of

course；　I　didn't　mean　that　I　played　well；　I　only　meant〃



〃Of　course；〃　said　he；　wondering　why　she　bothered　to　explain。



〃Music〃　said　Lucy；　as　if　attempting　some　generality。　She　could

not　complete　it；　and　looked　out　absently　upon　Italy　in　the　wet。

The　whole　life　of　the　South　was　disorganized；　and　the　most

graceful　nation　in　Europe　had　turned　into　formless　lumps　of

clothes。



The　street　and　the　river　were　dirty　yellow；　the　bridge　was　dirty

grey；　and　the　hills　were　dirty　purple。　Somewhere　in　their　folds

were　concealed　Miss　Lavish　and　Miss　Bartlett；　who　had　chosen　this

afternoon　to　visit　the　Torre　del　Gallo。



〃What　about　music？〃　said　Mr。　Beebe。



〃Poor　Charlotte　will　be　sopped；〃　was　Lucy's　reply。



The　expedition　was　typical　of　Miss　Bartlett；　who　would　return

cold；　tired；　hungry；　and　angelic；　with　a　ruined　skirt；　a　pulpy

Baedeker；　and　a　tickling　cough　in　her　throat。　On　another　day；

when　the　whole　world　was　singing　and　the　air　ran　into　the　mouth。

like　wine；　she　would　refuse　to　stir　from　the　drawing…room；　saying

that　she　was　an　old　thing；　and　no　fit　companion　for　a　hearty

girl。



〃Miss　Lavish　has　led　your　cousin　astray。　She　hopes　to　find　the

true　Italy　in　the　wet　I　believe。〃



〃Miss　Lavish　is　so　original；〃　murmured　Lucy。　This　was　a　stock

remark；　the　supreme　achievement　of　the　Pension　Bertolini　in　the

way　of　definition。　Miss　Lavish　was　so　original。　Mr。　Beebe　had　his

doubts；　but　they　would　have　been　put　down　to　clerical　narrowness。

For　that；　and　for　other　reasons；　he　held　his　peace。



〃Is　it　true；〃　continued　Lucy　in　awe…struck　tone；　〃that　Miss

Lavish　is　writing　a　book？〃



〃They　do　say　so。〃



〃What　is　it　about？〃



〃It　will　be　a　novel；〃　replied　Mr。　Beebe；　〃dealing　with　modern

Italy。　Let　me　refer　you　for　an　account　to　Miss　Catharine　Alan；

who　uses　words　herself　more　admirably　than　any　one　I　know。〃



〃I　wish　Miss　Lavish　would　tell　me　herself。　We　started　such

friends。　But　I　don't　think　she　ought　to　have　run　away　with

Baedeker　that　morning　in　Santa　Croce。　Charlotte　was　most　annoyed

at　finding　me　practically　alone；　and　so　I　couldn't　help　being　a

little　annoyed　with　Miss　Lavish。〃



〃The　two　ladies；　at　all　events；　have　made　it　up。〃



He　was　interested　in　the　sudden　friendship　between　women　so

apparently　dissimilar　as　Miss　Bartlett　and　Miss　Lavish。　They　were

always　in　each　other's　company；　with　Lucy　a　slighted　third。　Miss

Lavish　he　believed　he　understood；　but　Miss　Bartlett　might　reveal

unknown　depths　of　strangeness；　though　not　perhaps；　of　meaning。

Was　Italy　deflecting　her　from　the　path　of　prim　chaperon；　which　he

had　assigned　to　her　at　Tunbridge　Wells？　All　his　life　he　had　loved

to　study　maiden　ladies；　they　were　his　specialty；　and　his

profession　had　provided　him　with　ample　opportunities　for　the

work。　Girls　like　Lucy　were　charming　to　look　at；　but　Mr。　Beebe

was；　from　rather　profound　reasons；　somewhat　chilly　in　his

attitude　towards　the　other　sex；　and　preferred　to　be　interested

rather　than　enthralled。



Lucy；　for　the　third　time；　said　that　poor　Charlotte　would　be

sopped。　The　Arno　was　rising　in　flood；　washing　away　the　traces　of

the　little　carts　upon　the　foreshore。　But　in　the　south…west　there

had　appeared　a　dull　haze　of　yellow；　which　might　mean　better

weather　if　it　did　not　mean　worse。　She　opened　the　window　to

inspect；　and　a　cold　blast　entered　the　room；　drawing　a　plaintive

cry　from　Miss　Catharine　Alan；　who　entered　at　the　same　moment　by

the　door。



〃Oh；　dear　Miss　Honeychurch；　you　will　catch　a　chill！　And　Mr。　Beebe

here　besides。　Who　would　suppose　this　is　Italy？　There　is　my　sister

actually　nursing　the　hot…water　can；　no　comforts　or　proper

provisions。〃



She　sidled　towards　them　and　sat　down；　self…conscious　as　she

always　was　on　entering　a　room　which　contained　one　man；　or　a　man

and　one　woman。



〃I　could　hear　your　beautiful　playing；　Miss　Honeychurch；　though　I

was　in　my　room　with　the　door　shut。　Doors　shut；　indeed；　most

necessary。　No　one　has　the　least　idea　of　privacy　in　this　country。

And　one　person　catches　it　from　another。〃



Lucy　answered　suitably。　Mr。　Beebe　was　not　able　to　tell　the　ladies

of　his　adventure　at　Modena；　where　the　chambermaid　burst　in　upon

him　in　his　bath；　exclaiming　cheerfully；　〃Fa　niente；　sono

vecchia。〃　He　contented　himself　with　saying：　〃I　quite　agree　with

you；　Miss　Alan。　The　Italians　are　a　most　unpleasant　people。　They

pry　everywhere；　they　see　everything；　and　they　know　what　we　want

before　we　know　it　ourselves。　We　are　at　their　mercy。　They　read　our

thoughts；　they　foretell　our　desires。　From　the　cab…driver　down

toto　Giotto；　they　turn　us　inside　out；　and　I　resent　it。　Yet　in

their　heart　of　hearts　they　arehow　superficial！　They　have　no

conception　of　the　intellectual　life。　How　right　is　Signora

Bertolini；　who　exclaimed　to　me　the　other　day：　'Ho；　Mr。　Beebe；　if

you　knew　what　I　suffer　over　the　children's　edjucaishion。　HI

won't　'ave　my　little　Victorier　taught　by　a　hignorant　Italian

what　can't　explain　nothink！'〃



Miss　Alan　did　not　follow；　but　gathered　that　she　was　being　mocked

in　an　agreeable　way。　Her　sister　was　a　little　disappointed　in　Mr。

Beebe；　having　expected　better　things　from　a　clergyman　whose　head

was　bald　and　who　wore　a　pair　of　russet　whiskers。　Indeed；　who

would　have　supposed　that　tolerance；　sympathy；　and　a　sense　of

humour　would　inhabit　that　militant　form？



In　the　midst　of　her　satisfaction　she　continued　to　sidle；　and　at

last　the　cause　was　disclosed。　From　the　chair　beneath　her　she

extracted　a　gun…metal　cigarette…case；　on　which　were　powdered　in

turquoise　the　initials　〃E。　L。〃



〃That　belongs　to　Lavish。〃　said　the　clergyman。　〃A　good　fellow；

Lavish；　but　I　wish　she'd　start　a　pipe。〃



〃Oh；　Mr。　Beebe；〃　said　Miss　Alan；　divided　between　awe　and　mirth。

〃Indeed；　though　it　is　dreadful　for　her　to　smoke；　it　is　not　quite

as　dreadful　as　you　suppose。　She　took　to　it；　practically　in