ing, a sort of "bed rock" of Italian history. Dear me, how ignorant one can be, when all the while one is quite pleased with oneself as an Educated Person, with a capital E and P.
Alassio I thought a dear little place. You stopped there when you were coaching, in your honeymoon days. How little you dreamed then that your daughter would go tearing through on a motor? It has a nicer beach than any of the rival towns we saw; no wonder the Italians love to bathe there! Brown told me interesting stories about the enormous, lofty brick towers of Albenza, that seemed to nod so drowsily over the narrow, shadowed streets; Savona was too much modernised to please me, though the name had chimed alluringly in my ears; and with Prà we were treading on the trailing skirts of Genoa. Jimmy Payne had told Aunt Mary that it was nicer to stay all night in Pegli than in Genoa, because there were large gardens and a splendid view; but Brown said, if we would trust him, he would take us to a hotel in the midst of Genoa, with a large garden and a splendid view. So we did trust him—at least I did. And oh, Dad, I had my first experience in driving through real, enormous city traffic in Genoa! I would try it; and I succeeded beyond my dreams. I have got things to a fine point now, so that I manipulate the clutch and throttle (don't they sound murderous?) almost automatically; and there's something quite magical in the ease with which one can bring the car instantly down to a crawling walk, which wouldn't disconcert a tortoise, behind a string of carts, or at a touch dart
