king his head in
retrospective consternation at the thing escaped. "Oh, these
starveling Continental breakfasts! But I threw myself upon Pia's
clemency. I paid her compliments upon her hair, upon her toilet. I
called her Pia mia. I said that if I had only met her earlier in life,
I should have been a very different person. I appealed to the _woman_
in her. I explained to her that my hollow-cheeked companion, with the
lack-lustre eye, was a star-crossed lover, and must be treated with
exceptional tenderness. I said that nothing mitigated the _tormento
d'amore_ like beginning the day with a sustaining meal. I said you
were a man of an unbounded stomach. I said you were subject to
paroxysms of the most violent rage, and if you did n't get the proper
variety and quantity of food, you 'd smash the furniture. I smiled
upon her with my bonniest, blithest eyne. I ogled her. I chucked her
under the chin. I did nothing of the sort. I was extremely dignified.
But I told her of a dream I had last night--oh, such a lovely
dream--and she was melted. What do you suppose I dreamed of? I
dreamed of plump, juicy English sausages."

His face grew wistful, his voice sank. He piled his plate with ham and
omelette.

"You 'd better write a song about it," fleered Anthony. "'The Homesick
Glutton's Dream.'" Then, making a face, "Why did you order coffee?" he
grumbled. "Why did n't you order tea?"

"Tut, don't be peevish," said Adrian. "Sit up, and tie your
table-napkin round your neck, and try to be polite when the kind
gentleman speaks to you. I did order tea. But tea at Sampaolo is
regarded in the light of a pharmaceutical preparation. Pia said she
thought I might be able to procure some at the _farmacia_. This
omelette really is n't bad. You 'd better take some--before it
disappears in the darkness."

But Anthony declined the omelette--and it disappeared in the darkness.

"Come, cheer up, goodman Dull," Adrian exhorted him, selecting the
truffled portions from a plateful of gallantine. "'Men have died, and
worms have eaten them, but not for love.' Ginger is still hot in the
mouth, and there are more fish in the sea than have ever yet nibbled at
your bait and spurned it. Do you know why there are no mosquitoes at
Sampaolo, and no bandits? There are none--Pia gave me her word for it,
Pia mia gave me her pretty feminine word. But do you know why? Pia
told me why. The wind, Signore. The wind blows them aw