“It’s simply full of associations of old families—­the Dorias, the Pallavicinis, the Durazzos,” remarked Miss Cora.  “Do you gloat on the medieval?”

“We’re perfectly prepared to,” said the Senator.  “I believe we’ve got both Murray and Baedeker for this place.  Now do you commit your facts to memory before going to bed the night previous, or do you learn them up as you go along?”

“Oh,” said Miss Nancy Bingham, “we are of the opinion that one should always visit these places with a mind prepared.  Though I myself have no objection to carrying a guide-book, provided it is covered with brown paper.”

“Then you acquire it all beforehand,” commented the Senator.  “That, I must say, is commendable of you.  And it’s certainly the only business-like way of proceeding.  The amount of time a person loses fooling over Baedeker on the spot——­”

“One of us does,” acknowledged Miss Nancy.  “We take it in turns.  And I must say it is generally my sister.”  And she turned to Miss Cora, who blushed and said, “How can you, Nancy!”

“And you use her, for that particular public building or historic scene, as a sort of portable, self-acting reference library,” remarked poppa.  “That’s an idea that commends itself to me, daughter, in connection with you.”

I was about to reply in terms of deprecation, when a confusion of sound drifted in from the street, of arriving cabs and expostulating voices.  The Miss Binghams looked at each other in consternation and said with one accord, “It was the Fulda!”

“Was it?” inquired poppa.  “Do you refer to the German Lloyd steamship of that name?”

“We do,” said Miss Nancy.  “About an hour ago we were sure we saw her steaming into the harbour.”

“She comes from New York, I suppose,” momma remarked.

“She does indeed,” said Miss Nancy, “and she’s been lying at the docks unloading Americans ever since she arrived.  And here they are.  Cora, have you finished?”

Cora said she had, and without further parley the ladies rose and rustled away.  Their invading fellow-countrymen gratefully took their places, and the Senator sent a glance of scorn after them strong enough to make them turn round.  After dinner, we saw a collection of cabin trunks and valises standing in the entrance hall labelled BINGHAM, and knew that Miss Nancy and Miss Cora were again in flight before the Nemesis of the American Eagle.  I will not repeat poppa’s sentiments.

On the hotel doorstep next morning waited Alessandro Bebbini.  He waited for us—­an hour and a half, because momma had some re-packing to do and we were going on next day.  Nobody had asked him to wait, but he had a carriage ready and the look of having been ordered three months previously.  He presented his card to the Senator, who glanced at him and said, “Do I look as if I wanted a shave?”

Alessandro Bebbini smiled—­an olive flash of pity and amusement.  “I make not the shava, Signore,” he said, “I am the courier—­for your kind dispositione I am here.”