"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.

"I could hear your beautiful playing, Miss Honeychurch, though I
was in my room with the door shut. Doors shut; indeed, most
necessary. No one has the least idea of privacy in this country.
And one person catches it from another."

Lucy answered suitably. Mr. Beebe was not able to tell the ladies
of his adventure at Modena, where the chambermaid burst in upon
him in his bath, exclaiming cheerfully, "Fa niente, sono
vecchia." He contented himself with saying: "I quite agree with
you, Miss Alan. The Italians are a most unpleasant people. They
pry everywhere, they see everything, and they know what we want
before we know it ourselves. We are at their mercy. They read our
thoughts, they foretell our desires. From the cab-driver down
to--to Giotto, they turn us inside out, and I resent it. Yet in
their heart of hearts they are--how superficial! They have no
conception of the intellectual life. How right is Signora
Bertolini, who exclaimed to me the other day: 'Ho, Mr. Beebe, if
you knew what I suffer over the children's edjucaishion. HI
won't 'ave my little Victorier taught by a hignorant Italian
what can't explain nothink!'"