said: 'Can I have a little ink, please?' But you know what
Italians are, and meanwhile the Grotto fell roaring on to the
beach, and the saddest thing of all is that she cannot remember
what she has written. The poor thing was very ill after it, and
so got tempted into cigarettes. It is a great secret, but I am
glad to say that she is writing another novel. She told Teresa
and Miss Pole the other day that she had got up all the local
colour--this novel is to be about modern Italy; the other was
historical--but that she could not start till she had an idea.
First she tried Perugia for an inspiration, then she came here--
this must on no account get round. And so cheerful through it
all! I cannot help thinking that there is something to admire in
every one, even if you do not approve of them."

Miss Alan was always thus being charitable against her better
judgment. A delicate pathos perfumed her disconnected remarks,
giving them unexpected beauty, just as in the decaying autumn
woods there sometimes rise odours reminiscent of spring. She felt
she had made almost too many allowances, and apologized hurriedly
for her toleration.

"All the same, she is a little too--I hardly like to say
unwomanly, but she behaved most strangely when the Emersons
arrived."

Mr. Beebe smiled as Miss Alan plunged into an anecdote which he
knew she would be unable to finish in the presence of a
gentleman.

"I don't know, Miss Honeychurch, if you have noticed that Miss