They were talking about the Emersons.

"How wonderfully people rise in these days!" sighed Miss
Bartlett, fingering a model of the leaning Tower of Pisa.

"Generally," replied Mr. Eager, "one has only sympathy for their
success. The desire for education and for social advance--in
these things there is something not wholly vile. There are some
working men whom one would be very willing to see out here in
Florence--little as they would make of it."

"Is he a journalist now?" Miss Bartlett asked, "He is not; he
made an advantageous marriage."

He uttered this remark with a voice full of meaning, and ended
with a sigh.

"Oh, so he has a wife."

"Dead, Miss Bartlett, dead. I wonder--yes I wonder how he has the
effrontery to look me in the face, to dare to claim acquaintance
with me. He was in my London parish long ago. The other day in
Santa Croce, when he was with Miss Honeychurch, I snubbed him.
Let him beware that he does not get more than a snub."

"What?" cried Lucy, flushing.

"Exposure!" hissed Mr. Eager.