It was this promontory, uncultivated, wet, covered with bushes
and occasional trees, which had caught the fancy of Alessio
Baldovinetti nearly five hundred years before. He had ascended
it, that diligent and rather obscure master, possibly with an eye
to business, possibly for the joy of ascending. Standing there,
he had seen that view of the Val d'Arno and distant Florence,
which he afterwards had introduced not very effectively into his
work. But where exactly had he stood? That was the question which
Mr. Eager hoped to solve now. And Miss Lavish, whose nature was
attracted by anything problematical, had become equally
enthusiastic.

But it is not easy to carry the pictures of Alessio Baldovinetti
in your head, even if you have remembered to look at them before
starting. And the haze in the valley increased the difficulty of
the quest.

The party sprang about from tuft to tuft of grass, their anxiety
to keep together being only equalled by their desire to go
different directions. Finally they split into groups. Lucy clung
to Miss Bartlett and Miss Lavish; the Emersons returned to hold
laborious converse with the drivers; while the two clergymen, who
were expected to have topics in common, were left to each other.

The two elder ladies soon threw off the mask. In the audible
whisper that was now so familiar to Lucy they began to discuss,
not Alessio Baldovinetti, but the drive. Miss Bartlett had asked
Mr. George Emerson what his profession was, and he had answered
"the railway." She was very sorry that she had asked him. She had
no idea that it would be such a dreadful answer, or she would not