"It's so obvious they should have the rooms," said the son.
"There's nothing else to say."

He did not look at the ladies as he spoke, but his voice was
perplexed and sorrowful. Lucy, too, was perplexed; but she saw
that they were in for what is known as "quite a scene," and she
had an odd feeling that whenever these ill-bred tourists spoke
the contest widened and deepened till it dealt, not with rooms
and views, but with--well, with something quite different, whose
existence she had not realized before. Now the old man attacked
Miss Bartlett almost violently: Why should she not change? What
possible objection had she? They would clear out in half an hour.

Miss Bartlett, though skilled in the delicacies of conversation,
was powerless in the presence of brutality. It was impossible to
snub any one so gross. Her face reddened with displeasure. She
looked around as much as to say, "Are you all like this?" And two
little old ladies, who were sitting further up the table, with
shawls hanging over the backs of the chairs, looked back, clearly
indicating "We are not; we are genteel."

"Eat your dinner, dear," she said to Lucy, and began to toy again
with the meat that she had once censured.

Lucy mumbled that those seemed very odd people opposite.

"Eat your dinner, dear. This pension is a failure. To-morrow we
will make a change."

Hardly had she announced this fell decision when she reversed it.