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Girls like Lucy were charming to look at, but Mr. Beebe
was, from rather profound reasons, somewhat chilly in his
attitude towards the other sex, and preferred to be interested
rather than enthralled.
Lucy, for the third time, said that poor Charlotte would be
sopped. The Arno was rising in flood, washing away the traces of
the little carts upon the foreshore. But in the south-west there
had appeared a dull haze of yellow, which might mean better
weather if it did not mean worse. She opened the window to
inspect, and a cold blast entered the room, drawing a plaintive
cry from Miss Catharine Alan, who entered at the same moment by
the door.
"Oh, dear Miss Honeychurch, you will catch a chill! And Mr. Beebe
here besides. Who would suppose this is Italy? There is my sister
actually nursing the hot-water can; no comforts or proper
provisions."
She sidled towards them and sat down, self-conscious as she
always was on entering a room which contained one man, or a man
and one woman.


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