fired by his description, for what I've seen
of Northern Italy has stimulated my love for history and the
architecture of the ancients; but Prince Dalmar-Kalm persuaded Aunt
Kathryn that, as the neighbourhood of Cattaro is our goal, it would be a
waste of time to linger on the threshold of Dalmatia.

"Why, a little while ago you thought it stupid to go into Dalmatia at
all," said Beechy. "You warned us we'd have trouble about petrol, about
roads, about hotels, about everything."

"I have been talking since with Corramini," replied the Prince
unruffled. "He has motored through the country we are going to, and I
see from his accounts, that the journey is more feasible than I had
thought, knowing the way as I did, only from a yacht."

"Funny he should be more familiar with the country than you, as you've
got a castle there," Beechy soliloquized aloud.

"I make no secret that I have never lived at Hrvoya," the Prince
answered. "Neither I, nor my father before me. The house where I was
born is at Abbazzia. That is why I want you to go that way. It is no
longer mine; but I should like you to see it, since you cannot at
present see Schloss Kalm, near Vienna."

"You seem so fond of selling your houses, why don't you offer Mamma the
one near Vienna, if it's the best?" persisted naughty Beechy.

"I could not sell it if I would," smiled the Prince, who for some reason
is almost always good-natured now. "And if I offer it to a lady, she
must be the Princess Dalmar-Kalm."

I felt that a glance was thrown to me with these words, but I looked
only at my plate.

The conversation ended by the Prince getting his way, as he had made
Aunt Kathryn think it _her_ way: and we gave up Istria. Soon after ten
we were _en route_ for Abbazzia--close to Fiume--slanting along the neck
of the Istrian peninsula by a smooth and well-made road that showed the
Austrians were good at highways.

It was but thirty miles from sea to sea, and so sweetly did the car run,
so little were we troubled by cantankerous creatures of any sort, that
we descended from high land and before twelve o'clock ran into as
perfect a little watering place as can exist on earth.

Aunt Kathryn was prepared to like Abbazzia before she saw it, because it
was the scene of Prince Dalmar-Kalm's birth, and also because she'd been
told it was the favourite resort of Austrian aristocracy. I hadn't
listened much, because I had clung to the idea of visiting historic
Pola; but Ab