"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Eager. "Are you indeed? If you will not
think me rude, we residents sometimes pity you poor tourists
not a little--handed about like a parcel of goods from Venice to
Florence, from Florence to Rome, living herded together in
pensions or hotels, quite unconscious of anything that is outside
Baedeker, their one anxiety to get 'done' or 'through' and go on
somewhere else. The result is, they mix up towns, rivers, palaces
in one inextricable whirl. You know the American girl in Punch
who says: 'Say, poppa, what did we see at Rome?' And the father
replies: 'Why, guess Rome was the place where we saw the yaller
dog.' There's travelling for you. Ha! ha! ha!"

"I quite agree," said Miss Lavish, who had several times tried to
interrupt his mordant wit. "The narrowness and superficiality of
the Anglo-Saxon tourist is nothing less than a menace."

"Quite so. Now, the English colony at Florence, Miss Honeychurch
--and it is of considerable size, though, of course, not all
equally--a few are here for trade, for example. But the greater
part are students. Lady Helen Laverstock is at present busy over
Fra Angelico. I mention her name because we are passing her villa
on the left. No, you can only see it if you stand--no, do not
stand; you will fall. She is very proud of that thick hedge.
Inside, perfect seclusion. One might have gone back six hundred
years. Some critics believe that her garden was the scene of The
Decameron, which lends it an additional interest, does it not?"

"It does indeed!" cried Miss Lavish. "Tell me, where do they
place the scene of that wonderful seventh day?"