“There are such men, I know,” said Gino.  “And I have heard it said of children.  But where will you find such a woman?”

“That is true.  Here you are wiser than I. Sono poco SIMPATICHE Le Donne.  And the time we waste over them is much.”  He sighed dolefully, as if he found the nobility of his sex a burden.

“One I have seen who may be so.  She spoke very little, but she was a young lady—­different to most.  She, too, was English, the companion of my wife here.  But Fra Filippo, the brother-in-law, took her back with him.  I saw them start.  He was very angry.”

Then he spoke of his exciting and secret marriage, and they made fun of the unfortunate Philip, who had travelled over Europe to stop it.

“I regret though,” said Gino, when they had finished laughing, “that I toppled him on to the bed.  A great tall man!  And when I am really amused I am often impolite.”

“You will never see him again,” said Spiridione, who carried plenty of philosophy about him.  “And by now the scene will have passed from his mind.”

“It sometimes happens that such things are recollected longest.  I shall never see him again, of course; but it is no benefit to me that he should wish me ill.  And even if he has forgotten, I am still sorry that I toppled him on to the bed.”

So their talk continued, at one moment full of childishness and tender wisdom, the next moment scandalously gross.  The shadows of the terra-cotta pillars lengthened, and tourists, flying through the Palazzo Pubblico opposite, could observe how the Italians wasted time.

The sight of tourists reminded Gino of something he might say.  “I want to consult you since you are so kind as to take an interest in my affairs.  My wife wishes to take solitary walks.”

Spiridione was shocked.

“But I have forbidden her.”

“Naturally.”

“She does not yet understand.  She asked me to accompany her sometimes—­to walk without object!  You know, she would like me to be with her all day.”

“I see.  I see.”  He knitted his brows and tried to think how he could help his friend.  “She needs employment.  Is she a Catholic?”

“No.”

“That is a pity.  She must be persuaded.  It will be a great solace to her when she is alone.”

“I am a Catholic, but of course I never go to church.”

“Of course not.  Still, you might take her at first.  That is what my brother has done with his wife at Bologna and he has joined the Free Thinkers.  He took her once or twice himself, and now she has acquired the habit and continues to go without him.”

“Most excellent advice, and I thank you for it.  But she wishes to give tea-parties—­men and women together whom she has never seen.”

“Oh, the English! they are always thinking of tea.  They carry it by the kilogramme in their trunks, and they are so clumsy that they always pack it at the top.  But it is absurd!”