His coupons availed for the same hotel as theirs, and by chance, as it seemed, he sat next Miss Winchelsea at the table d’hote. In spite of her enthusiasm for Rome, she had thought out some such possibility very thoroughly, and when he ventured to make a remark upon the tediousness of travelling—­he let the soup and fish go by before he did this—­she did not simply assent to his proposition, but responded with another.  They were soon comparing their journeys, and Helen and Fanny were cruelly overlooked in the conversation..  It was to be the same journey, they found; one day for the galleries at Florence—­“from what I hear,” said the young man, “it is barely enough,”—­and the rest at Rome.  He talked of Rome very pleasantly; he was evidently quite well read, and he quoted Horace about Soracte.  Miss Winchelsea had “done” that book of Horace for her matriculation, and was delighted to cap his quotation.  It gave a sort of tone to things, this incident—­a touch of refinement to mere chatting.  Fanny expressed a few emotions, and Helen interpolated a few sensible remarks, but the bulk of the talk on the girls’ side naturally fell to Miss Winchelsea.

Before they reached Rome this young man was tacitly of their party.  They did not know his name nor what he was, but it seemed he taught, and Miss Winchelsea had a shrewd idea he was an extension lecturer.  At any rate he was something of that sort, something gentlemanly and refined without being opulent and impossible.  She tried once or twice to ascertain whether he came from Oxford or Cambridge, but he missed her timid opportunities.  She tried to get him to make remarks about those places to see if he would say “come up” to them instead of “go down,”—­she knew that was how you told a ’Varsity man.  He used the word “’Varsity”—­not university—­in quite the proper way.

They saw as much of Mr. Ruskin’s Florence as the brief time permitted; he met them in the Pitti Gallery and went round with them, chatting brightly, and evidently very grateful for their recognition.  He knew a great deal about art, and all four enjoyed the morning immensely.  It was fine to go round recognising old favourites and finding new beauties, especially while so many people fumbled helplessly with Baedeker.  Nor was he a bit of a prig, Miss Winchelsea said, and indeed she detested prigs.  He had a distinct undertone of humour, and was funny, for example, without being vulgar, at the expense of the quaint work of Beato Angelico.  He had a grave seriousness beneath it all, and was quick to seize the moral lessons of the pictures.  Fanny went softly among these masterpieces; she admitted “she knew so little about them,” and she confessed that to her they were “all beautiful.”  Fanny’s “beautiful” inclined to be a little monotonous, Miss Winchelsea thought.  She had been quite glad when the last sunny Alp had vanished, because of the staccato of Fanny’s admiration.  Helen said little, but Miss Winchelsea had found her a trifle wanting on the aesthetic side in the old days and was not surprised; sometimes she laughed at the young man’s hesitating, delicate jests and sometimes she didn’t, and sometimes she seemed quite lost to the art about them in the contemplation of the dresses of the other visitors.