We were glad to understand it, but Dicky declared that no explanation would induce him to take a season ticket for the Arena, it was too destitute of modern improvements.  It was something, though, to sit there watching, with the ranged multitude, a show in a Roman Amphitheatre—­one could imagine things, lictors and aediles, senators and centurions.  It only required the substitution of togas and girdled robes for trousers and petticoats, and a purple awning for the emperor, and a brass-plated body-guard with long spears and hairy arms and legs, and a few details like that.  If one half closed one’s eyes it was hardly necessary to imagine.  I was half closing my eyes, and wondering whether they had Vestal Virgins at this particular amphitheatre, and trying to remember whether they would turn their thumbs up or down when they wished the clown to be destroyed, when Dicky grew suddenly pale and sprang to his feet.

“I was afraid it might give one a chill,” I said, “but it is very picturesque.  I suppose the ancient Romans brought cushions.”

Mr. Dod did not appear to hear me.

“In the third row below,” he exclaimed, blushing joyfully, “the sixth from this end—­do you see?  Yellow bun under a floral hat—­Isabel!”

“A yellow bun under a floral hat,” I repeated, “that would be Isabel, if you add a good complexion and a look of deportment.  Yes, now I see her.  Mrs. Portheris on one side, Mr. Mafferton on the other.  What do you want to do?”

“Assassinate Mafferton,” said Dicky.  “Does it look to you as if he had been getting there at all.”

“So far as one can see from behind, I should say he has made some progress, but I don’t think, Dicky, that he has arrived.  He is constitutionally slow,” I added, “about arriving.”

At that moment the party rose.  Without a word we, too, got on our feet and automatically followed, Dicky treading the reserved seats of the court of Berengarius as if they had been the back rows of a Bowery theatre.  The classics were wholly obscured for him by a floral hat and a yellow bun.  I, too, abandoned my speculations cheerfully, for I expected Mrs. Portheris, confronted with Dicky, to be more entertaining than any gladiator.

We came up with them at the exit, and that august lady, as we approached, to our astonishment, greeted us with effusion.

[Illustration:  “Do you see?”]

“We thought,” she declared, “that we had lost you altogether.  This is quite delightful.  Now we must reunite!” Dicky was certainly included.  It was extraordinary.  “And your dear father and mother,” went on Mrs. Portheris, “I am longing to hear their experiences since we parted.  Where are you?  The Colomba?  Why what a coincidence!  We are there, too!  How small the world is!”

“Then you have only just arrived,” said Mr. Dod to Miss Portheris, who had turned away her head, and was regarding the distant mountains.

“Yes.”