After
all, he knew nothing about them, and pension joys, pension
sorrows, are flimsy things; whereas Lucy would be his
parishioner.
Lucy, with one eye upon the weather, finally said that she
thought the Emersons were nice; not that she saw anything of them
now. Even their seats at dinner had been moved.
"But aren't they always waylaying you to go out with them, dear?"
said the little lady inquisitively.
"Only once. Charlotte didn't like it, and said something--quite
politely, of course."
"Most right of her. They don't understand our ways. They must
find their level."
Mr. Beebe rather felt that they had gone under. They had given up
their attempt--if it was one--to conquer society, and now the
father was almost as silent as the son. He wondered whether he
would not plan a pleasant day for these folk before they left--
some expedition, perhaps, with Lucy well chaperoned to be nice to
them. It was one of Mr. Beebe's chief pleasures to provide people
with happy memories.
Evening approached while they chatted; the air became brighter;
the colours on the trees and hills were purified, and the Arno
lost its muddy solidity and began to twinkle.
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