Vyvian," Peggy resumed. "The babies hate him, and he makes himself horrid
to everyone, and lets Rhoda Johnson grovel to him, and stares at the
stains on the table-cloth, as if his own nails weren't worse, and turns up
his nose at the food. Poor little Rhoda! You saw her? The little thin
girl with a cough, who hangs on Vyvian's words and blushes when her
mother speaks. She's English governess to the Marchesa Azzareto's
children. Mrs. Johnson's a jolly old soul; I'm fond of her; she's the
best of the boarders, by a lot. Now, precious, if you tumble in again
this morning, you shall sit next to Mr. Vyvian at dinner. You go and tell
the others that from me. It isn't respectable, the way you all go on.
Here's the minestra at last."

Teresina, clattering about the marble floor with the minestra, screamed
"Pronto," very loud, and the boarders trailed in one by one. First came
Mr. Guy Vyvian, sauntering with resignedly lifted brows, and looking as
if it ought to have been ready a long time ago; he was followed by Mrs.
Johnson, a stout and pleasant lady, who looked as if she was only too
delighted that it was ready now, and the more the better; her young
daughter, Rhoda, wearing a floppy smocked frock and no collar but a bead
necklace, coughed behind her; she looked pale and fatigued, and as if it
didn't matter in the least if it was never ready at all. She was being
talked to by a round-faced, fluffy-haired lady in a green dress and
pince-nez, who took an interest in the development of her deplorably
uncultured young mind--a Miss Barnett, who was painting pictures to
illustrate a book to be called "Venice, Her Spirit." The great hope for
young Rhoda, both Miss Barnett and Mr. Vyvian felt, was to widen the gulf
between her and her unspeakable mother. They, who quarrelled about
everything else, were united in this enterprise. The method adopted
was to snub Mrs. Johnson whenever she spoke. That was no doubt why, as
Peggy had told Peter, Rhoda blushed on those frequent occasions.