“To the top—­where the vines are?  I never expected the mountains.”

“You never expected the mountains?  Pray, why not?  They are always there!”

“But I was never there before.  I never knew they were there, round the town.  I didn’t expect it like that.”

“Ah!  So you found our city impressive?”

“Very!  Ah, very!  A new world to me.  I feel I’ve come out of myself.”

“Yes, it is a wonderful sight—­a wonderful sight—­ But you have not been INTO the town?”

“Yes.  I saw the men being shaved, and all the soldiers at the station:  and a statue, and mountains behind it.  Oh, I’ve had a full morning.”

“A full morning!  That is good, that is good!” The old man looked again at the younger man, and seemed to get life from him, to live in him vicariously.

“Come,” said the hostess.  “Luncheon.”

Aaron sat again on his hostess’ left hand.  The Colonel was more affable now it was meal-time.  Sir William was again in a good humour, chaffing the young ladies with an old man’s gallantry.  But now he insisted on drawing Aaron into the play.  And Aaron did not want to be drawn.  He did not one bit want to chaffer gallantries with the young women.  Between him and Sir William there was a curious rivalry—­ unconscious on both sides.  The old knight had devoted an energetic, adventurous, almost an artistic nature to the making of his fortune and the developing of later philanthropies.  He had no children.  Aaron was devoting a similar nature to anything but fortune-making and philanthropy.  The one held life to be a storing-up of produce and a conservation of energy:  the other held life to be a sheer spending of energy and a storing-up of nothing but experience.  There they were, in opposition, the old man and the young.  Sir William kept calling Aaron into the chaffer at the other end of the table:  and Aaron kept on refusing to join.  He hated long distance answers, anyhow.  And in his mood of the moment he hated the young women.  He had a conversation with Arthur about statues:  concerning which Aaron knew nothing, and Arthur less than nothing.  Then Lady Franks turned the conversation to the soldiers at the station, and said how Sir William had equipped rest-huts for the Italian privates, near the station:  but that such was the jealousy and spite of the Italian Red Cross—­or some such body, locally—­that Sir William’s huts had been left empty—­standing unused—­ while the men had slept on the stone floor of the station, night after night, in icy winter.  There was evidently much bitter feeling as a result of Sir William’s philanthropy.  Apparently even the honey of lavish charity had turned to gall in the Italian mouth:  at least the official mouth.  Which gall had been spat back at the charitable, much to his pain.  It is in truth a difficult world, particularly when you have another race to deal with.  After which came the beef-olives.