or carriage. It is
the thrill of flying through the air at such a rate that intoxicates you
and makes you feel you are conquering the world as you go. Perhaps he's
right. But after all, reasons don't signify much. The principal thing
is that you do feel so, and it is lovely.

I was so tired after that long day from Cuneo to Milan that I wouldn't
get up to go and look at the cathedral. I'd seen it by moonlight, and it
couldn't be better by day, so I just lay in bed, and made a comfortable
toilet afterwards without hurrying, which was a nice change, and gave me
time to use my electric face-roller.

When the girls came back, they were raving about magnificent statues,
aisles, columns, windows, vistas, gargoyles, and saints' bodies in
gorgeous shrines of silver. Beechy had apparently forgotten that she'd
been vexed with me over night, and I was relieved, for she will _not_
agree with me about the Prince, and I don't know what I should do if she
really did carry out any of her threats. If she _should_ put on the long
frock she had before Mr. Kidder died (which she _says_ she's got with
her, locked up in her portmanteau), and should fix her hair on top of
her head, that would be just about the end of my fun, once and for all.
But she is such a dear girl at heart, in spite of the peculiarities
which she has inherited from poor Simon, I can't think (if I manage her
pretty well) that she would do anything to spoil my first real good time
and hurt my feelings.

We had an early lunch, and started about one with such a crowd outside
the hotel to see us go away, that we made up our minds there must be
precious few automobiles in Milan, big and busy city as it is.

The whole party was so taken up with the Cathedral, that for a while
they could talk of nothing but Gian Galeazzo Visconti (who seemed to
have spent his life either in murdering his relations or founding
churches), or marble from the valley of Tosa, or German architects who
had made the building differ from any other in Italy, or the impulse
Napoleon had given to work on the facade, or the view from the roof all
the way to Como with the Apennines and lots of other mountains whose
names I'd never heard; but presently as we got out into the suburbs the
road began to be so awful that no one could talk rationally on any
subject.

We three Americans weren't quite so disgusted as Sir Ralph and Mr.
Barrymore seemed to be, for we are used to roads being pretty bad
outside l