the delight of Mr. Beebe and to the secret delight of Lucy.
"Poor young man !" said Miss Bartlett, as soon as he had gone. "How angry he is with his father about the rooms! It is all he can do to keep polite."
"In half an hour or so your rooms will be ready," said Mr. Beebe. Then, looking rather thoughtfully at the two cousins, he retired to his own room, to write up his philosophic diary.
"Oh dear!" breathed the little old lady, and shuddered as if all the winds of heaven had entered the apartment. "Gentlemen sometimes do not realize———" Her voice faded away, but Miss Bartlett seemed to understand, and a conversation developed, in which gentlemen who did not thoroughly realize played a principal part. Lucy, not realizing either, was reduced to literature. Taking up Baedeker's "Handbook to Northern Italy," she committed to memory the most important dates of Florentine History. For she was determined to enjoy herself on the morrow. Thus the half-hour crept profitably away, and at last Miss Bartlett rose with a sigh, and said:
"I think one might venture now. No, Lucy, do not stir. I will superintend the move."
"How you do do everything," said Lucy.
"Naturally, dear. It is my affair."
"But I would like to help you."
