“I don’t know where he is.”
“Angus! Didn’t we hear that Lilly
was in Germany?”
“Yes, in Munich, being psychoanalysed, I believe
it was.”
Aaron looked rather blank.
“But have you anything to take you to Venice?
It’s such a bad climate in the winter.
Why not come with us to Florence?” said Francis.
Aaron wavered. He really did not know what to
do.
“Think about it,” said Francis, laying
his hand on Aaron’s arm. “Think
about it tonight. And we’ll meet in the
morning. At what time?”
“Well, say eleven. We’ll meet in
the lounge here at eleven. Will that suit you?
All right, then. It’s so awfully nice
meeting you. That marvellous flute.—And
think about Florence. But do come. Don’t
disappoint us.”
The two young men went elegantly upstairs.
The next day but one, the three set off for Florence.
Aaron had made an excursion from Milan with the two
young heroes, and dined with them subsequently at
the most expensive restaurant in the town. Then
they had all gone home—and had sat in the
young men’s bedroom drinking tea, whilst Aaron
played the flute. Francis was really musical,
and enchanted. Angus enjoyed the novelty, and
the moderate patronage he was able to confer.
And Aaron felt amused and pleased, and hoped he was
paying for his treat.
So behold them setting off for Florence in the early
morning. Angus and Francis had first-class tickets:
Aaron took a third-class.
“Come and have lunch with us on the train,”
said Angus. “I’ll order three places,
and we can lunch together.”
“Oh, I can buy a bit of food at the station,”
said Aaron.
“No, come and lunch with us. It will be
much nicer. And we shall enjoy it as well,”
said Angus.
“Of course! Ever so much nicer!
Of course!” cried Francis. “Yes,
why not, indeed! Why should you hesitate?”
“All right, then,” said Aaron, not without
some feeling of constraint.
So they separated. The young men settled themselves
amidst the red plush and crochet-work, looking, with
their hair plastered smoothly back, quite as first
class as you could wish, creating quite the right
impression on the porters and the travelling Italians.
Aaron went to his third-class, further up the train.
“Well, then, au revoir, till luncheon,”
cried Francis.
The train was fairly full in the third and second
classes. However, Aaron got his seat, and the
porter brought on his bags, after disposing of the
young men’s luggage. Aaron gave the tip
uneasily. He always hated tipping—it
seemed humiliating both ways. And the airy aplomb
of the two young cavaliers, as they settled down among
the red plush and the obsequiousness, and said “Well,
then, au revoir till luncheon,” was peculiarly
unsettling: though they did not intend it so.
