very exciting both for us and for her."

Lucy at once re-entered daily life.

"Oh, what a funny thing! Some one said just the same to mother,
and she said she trusted I should never live a duet."

"Doesn't Mrs. Honeychurch like music?"

"She doesn't mind it. But she doesn't like one to get excited
over anything; she thinks I am silly about it. She thinks--I
can't make out. Once, you know, I said that I liked my own
playing better than any one's. She has never got over it. Of
course, I didn't mean that I played well; I only meant--"

"Of course," said he, wondering why she bothered to explain.

"Music--" said Lucy, as if attempting some generality. She could
not complete it, and looked out absently upon Italy in the wet.
The whole life of the South was disorganized, and the most
graceful nation in Europe had turned into formless lumps of
clothes.

The street and the river were dirty yellow, the bridge was dirty
grey, and the hills were dirty purple. Somewhere in their folds
were concealed Miss Lavish and Miss Bartlett, who had chosen this
afternoon to visit the Torre del Gallo.

"What about music?" said Mr. Beebe.