ee, is
there? Nothing but the Aquarium, and I've seen that. Well, anyhow, I'll
come round a bit with you, shall I, and then I can say I've seen
something. Mother goes about with Murray; rotten book; I hate it. You
haven't got it about you, have you?' she added suspiciously.

'No. You see, I'm a mine of information in myself. It is so nice to be
well informed, isn't it?'

Miranda observed, between compliment and irony:

'You know an awful lot, I suppose.'

Betty nodded.

'One picks things up--one likes to learn. We might have a really
instructive morning, only it's time for lunch. You'd better come and
have lunch too. The Trattoria Buonaventura, in the Toledo--do you know
it? No, probably not. I'm going to meet some friends there.'

'Well, I'll come. But it's only half-past twelve; it's a funny time for
lunch.'

Betty supposed that it might seem so, remembering the breakfast at
Parker's.

They went towards the Trattoria Buonaventura, and Betty pointed out
objects cursorily, and, as a rule, with creditable veracity, by the way.

'The English church. Perhaps you know it, though? Is it nice inside?'

'No, it's not. But I don't like any churches; they're all stuffy. Mother
keeps going to them, though she's an agnostic, you know. She hasn't got
a religion--oh, I wasn't to say that; I mean she rejects dogmatic
formulas--I think that's what she says. She won't let me reject them,
because she says I'm not old enough to have thought it out yet.... What
a funny place! Do you often come here? I love meals in restaurants,
don't you?'

Miranda was introduced to Morello, the painter, whose ugly flexible face
and expressive gestures set her wondering, and whose extraordinary skill
at rapidly absorbing immense lengths of macaroni fascinated her. He
talked with some vehemence, and did not seem to like to be interrupted.
Betty, who never left anyone out, talked to Miranda, and acted as
interpreter. The Signorina Lunelli ate and drank a great deal, and
smiled with immense cheerfulness; Miranda admired her large beauty and
fine physique very much. All three, she perceived, were great friends,
not only with each other, but with nearly every one in the room. It was
a very sociable and merry meal.

'You don't smoke, I think?' Betty said, as the coffee arrived.

'I don't mind trying,' Miranda replied. 'I was ill last time, but that
was three years ago. I was a kid then; besides, it was a cigar of
Warren's. Dare say I could mana