and you’re givin’ of us away.  Mother, folks are listening.’  Let ’em listen is what I say.  They won’t hear anything that could hurt ’em from me.  But Rhoder’s so quiet; she hates a bit of notice.  Not that she minds when she’s with him; he talks away at the top of his voice, and folks do turn an’ listen—­I’ve seen ’em.  But I suppose that’s clever talk, so Rhoder don’t mind.”

She raised her voice from the thick and cautious whisper which she thought suitable for these remarks, and addressed Peggy.

“Well, we’ve had a good dinner, my dear—­plenty of it, if the rice was a bit underdone.”

“A grain,” Miss Gould was murmuring to the curate, “a single grain would have had unspeakable effects....”

Peggy was endeavouring to comb Caterina’s exceedingly tangled locks with the fingers of one hand, while with the other she slapped Silvio’s (Larry’s) bare and muddy feet to make him take them off the table-cloth.  Not that they made much difference to the condition of the table-cloth; but still, there are conventions.

“It is a disgrace,” Hilary remarked mechanically, “that my children can’t behave like civilised beings at a meal ...  Peter, what are you going to do this afternoon?”

The boarders rose.  Mrs. Johnson patted Peter approvingly on the arm, and said, “I’m glad to of had the pleasure.  One day we’ll go out together, you and me.  Seem as if we look at things from the same point of view, as it were.  You mayn’t be so clever as some, but you suit me.  Now, my dear, I’m goin’ to help you about the house a bit.  The saloon wants dustin’, I noticed.”

Peggy sighed and said she was sure it did, and Teresina was hopeless, and Mrs. Johnson was really too kind, but it was a shame to bother her, and the saloon could go another while yet.  She was struggling with the children’s bibs and rather preoccupied.

The boarders went out to pursue their several avocations; Rhoda and Mr. Vyvian to the church of San Giorgio degli Schiavoni, that Mr. Vyvian might the better explain what he meant; Miss Barnett, round-about and cheerful, sketch-book in hand, to hunt for “Venice, Her Spirit,” in the Pescaria; Miss Gould to lie down on her bed and recover from lunch; the curate to take the air and photographs for his magic lantern lectures to be delivered in the parish-room at home; and Mrs. Johnson to find a feather broom.

Hilary sat down and lit a cigar, and Illuminato crawled about his legs.

“I’m going out with Leslie,” said Peter.  “We’re going to call on the prince and see the goblet and begin the haggling.  We must haggle, though as a matter of fact Leslie means to have it at any price.  It must be a perfectly ripping thing....  Now let me have a number of ‘The Gem’ to read.  I’ve not seen it yet, you know.”

“It’s very dull, my dear,” Peggy murmured, rinsing water over the place on the table-cloth where Silvio’s feet had been.