rn vulgarianism, and decadence.

"And when you go back, you will go back to your old village?" she
said.

He made a gesture with his head and shoulders, evasive,
non-committal.

"I don't know, you see," he said.

"What is the name of it?"

"Pescocalascio." He said the word subduedly, unwillingly.

"Tell me again," said Alvina.

"Pescocalascio."

She repeated it.

"And tell me how you spell it," she said.

He fumbled in his pocket for a pencil and a piece of paper. She rose
and brought him an old sketch-book. He wrote, slowly, but with the
beautiful Italian hand, the name of his village.

"And write your name," she said.

"Marasca Francesco," he wrote.

"And write the name of your father and mother," she said. He looked
at her enquiringly.

"I want to see them," she said.

"Marasca Giovanni," he wrote, and under that "Califano Maria."

She looked at the four names, in the graceful Italian script. And
one after the other she read them out. He corrected her, smiling
gravely. When she said them properly, he nodded.

"Yes," he said. "That's it. You say it well."

At that moment Miss Pinnegar came in to say Mrs. Rollings had seen
another of the young men riding down the street.

"That's Gigi! He doesn't know how to come here," said Ciccio,
quickly taking his hat and going out to find his friend.

Geoffrey arrived, his broad face hot and perspiring.

"Couldn't you find it?" said Alvina.

"I find the house, but I couldn't find no door," said Geoffrey.

They all laughed, and sat down to tea. Geoffrey and Ciccio talked to
each other in French, and kept each other in countenance.
Fortunately for them, Madame had seen to their table-manners. But
still they were far too free and easy to suit Miss Pinnegar.

"Do you know," said Ciccio in French to Geoffrey, "what a fine house
this is?"

"No," said Geoffrey, rolling his large eyes round the room, and
speaking with his cheek stuffed out with food. "Is it?"

"Ah--if it was _hers_, you know--"

And so, after tea, Ciccio said to Alvina:

"Shall you let Geoffrey see the house?"

The tour commenced again. Geoffrey, with his thick legs planted
apart, gazed round the rooms, and made his comments in French to
Ciccio. When they climbed the stairs, he fingered the big, smooth
mahogany bannister-rail. In the bedroom he stared almost dismayed
at the colossal bed and cupboard. In the bath-room he turned on the
old-fashioned, silver taps.

"Here is my room--