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.The American lady on the other side was beginning to take a sympathetic interest.Her eyes behind their odd shaped spectacles gave Rupert an appraising and rather steely stare.It was really most unjust and not a little unnerving.'Please, Penny, don't cry,' he said more urgently.'I can't bear to see you unhappy.You're always such a jolly little thing.'She stopped crying in astonishment — 'a jolly little thing'! So that was how he thought of her — what could be worse.Jolly and a thing.she began to cry again.'Poor little Pre-Raphaelite beatnik,' he murmured, stroking her hair.Gently he started to lead her down the steps with the idea of finding some more secluded spot where he might kiss her.As they walked she managed to regain control of herself and began to apologize, wondering what on earth he must think of her and begging him to forget all about it if he could.Rupert hardly knew what to say.If only he could take her to bed with him, he thought as they approached the pensione, so much might be smoothed out there.But perhaps it was just as well that circumstances made it impossible at this moment, for that might bring about even deeper complications.'It must have been the Chianti,' said Penelope, smiling and sniffing.'Some wines are said to have a depressing effect.''Well, as long as it's nothing I've done,' said Rupert, relieved but not altogether convinced.She wondered how she was going to be able to face him again after this dreadful evening, but perhaps they need never meet again.The bitterness of being described as a jolly little thing would remain with her for a long time, she felt.As for Rupert, he could not help reflecting on the irony of a situation that now made him want to take Penelope to bed when he had intended to have a decorous flirtation with Ianthe.Was he in some way irrevocably committed to her? Perhaps it was a good thing that he had already decided to spend a few days working in the Vatican Library — that convenient hiding place and haven of scholars, to name only the least obvious of its uses.He was too modest to believe that Penelope could have fallen in love with him, yet the memory of her tears disquieted him and he realized that he could hardly at this stage start paying attention to Ianthe.That would have to wait until they were back in England.17It was a grey morning when Sophia and Ianthe left Rome, the kind of morning one might just as easily have had in England.From the train the country looked uninteresting except when a small town came into view on a distant hill top.'I feel rather guilty coming away with you like this,' said Ianthe, after they had exclaimed together over one such pretty little town.'It's only a few days,' said Sophia, 'and it's such a waste for you not to see a bit of the south while you're here.' She hoped Ianthe wasn't going to spoil this part of the holiday by having dreary scruples about her work.'Yes, it does, after coming all this way,' said Ianthe.'I've written to Mervyn Cantrell at the library and he should get the letter today or tomorrow.Of course these few days will come off my summer holiday so it isn't as if I'm taking any extra time off.''Mark and the Pettigrews had to get home and Sister Dew was well enough to travel with them, and Penelope.' Sophia hesitated, not quite knowing what to say about her sister.She had appeared to be upset about something to do with Rupert Stonebird, but Sophia had not been able to gather exactly what had taken place between them on that evening in Trastevere.Some little scene — wine and kisses — tears and the beauty of the Roman evening — it was not difficult to imagine.Could it have been a lovers' 'tiff? Sophia wondered hopefully.Whatever it had been, Penelope had seemed anxious to go back to London and Rupert had hidden himself away in the Vatican Library to work — a natural but perhaps slightly cowardly thing for a man to do.It was obviously better to remove Ianthe from Rome in case he should emerge, as he was bound to eventually, and find her there.Not that Ianthe had wanted to stay on by herself; she had seemed eager to go with Sophia to her aunt's villa for a few days.The idea of Basil Branche being still in Rome evidently had no attraction for her.Unless she was purposely fleeing from him in the hope that.here Sophia realized that she was tired and closed her eyes, as if by so doing she could shut out further tortuous imaginings.She decided to meditate on Faustina, to try to picture what she would be doing at this moment.Various little scenes came into her mind — Faustina at her dish, her head on one side, vigorously chewing a piece of meat; sitting upright and thumping her tail, demanding for the door to be opened; reposing on a bed, curled up in a circle; sharpening her claws on the leg of an armchair — so many of these pictures brought the cat before her, so that she could almost smell her fresh furry smell and her warm sweet breath.Ianthe meditated on the landscape and the other people in the train, who were as unremarkable — though in an Italian way — as a similar collection of people in an English train might have been.The only differences were that the priest looked somehow dirty, and the young couple were gazing at each other in a way not found in England.Yet here Ianthe became doubtful — did a Church of England clergyman never look dirty? — did young English couples never gaze at each other so devouringly? After all, John had kissed her at the station, she thought, lowering her eyes as she felt Sophia looking at her.'You can tell we're getting to the south,' she said enthusiastically.'The sun's shining and the houses look different.''Yes — the flat roofs are rather ugly, aren't they.''But look at the oranges,' said Sophia reproachfully.'Are we nearly at Naples, then?''Yes — we have to change there.In fact here, at Mergellina.Isn't the air wonderfully different?' said Sophia as they stepped out of the high train.'There's a sort of peculiar smell,' said Ianthe uncertainly.'Yes — the Bay — it's a kind of emanation.You sometimes get it in London at unexpected times.'Ianthe was glad that Sophia was with her and knew what to do and where to find the train to Salerno.It was not until they were in the bus winding along the coast road towards Amalfi that she began to feel her spirits rising again.A journey, especially a foreign one, is always tiring, with the added fear or excitement of not knowing exactly what one is going to find at the end of it.Ianthe thought sympathetically of English governesses going out to strange families.Then the bus turned up the road to Ravello and she forgot her strangeness in the more immediate excitement of the twisting road and the view revealed at each bend of it.When they reached the square an old woman in a black dress and a young boy were there to meet them.Sophia embraced the old woman and said something to her in Italian which made her cackle with laughter.Surely this couldn't be Sophia's aunt? Ianthe wondered.The boy had seized their suitcases and was hurrying on ahead up a rough path.'This is Anna,' Sophia explained.'I'm afraid she doesn't speak English, but she'll get you anything you want — she's very quick at understanding one's needs
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