think of any inn where it was not good and wholesome, while often
it was delicious. In short, Lady Considine, I strongly advise you
to take a drive in Italy next spring, and if I am free I shall be
delighted to act as courier."

"Sir John has forgotten one or two touches I must fill in," said
the Marchesa. "It was often difficult to arrange a stopping-place
for lunch, so we always stocked our basket before starting. After
the first day's experience we decided that it was vastly more
pleasant to take our meal while going uphill at a foot-pace, than
in the swing and jolt of a descent, so the route and the pace of
the horses had to be regulated in order to give us a good hour's
ascent about noon. Fortunately hills are plentiful in this part of
Italy, and in the keen air we generally made an end of the vast
store of provisions we laid in, and the generous fiascho was always
empty a little too soon. Our drive came to an end at Fano, whither
we had gone on account of a strange romantic desire of Sir John to
look upon an angel which Browning had named in one of his poems.
Ah! how vividly I can recall our pursuit of that picture. It was a
wet, melancholy day. The people of Fano were careless of the fame
of their angel, for no one knew the church which it graced. At
last we came upon it by the merest chance, and Sir John led the
procession up to the shrine, where we all stood for a time in
positions of mock admiration. Sir John tried hard to keep up the
imposition, but something, either his innate honesty or the
chilling environment of disapproval of Guercino's handiwork, was
too much for him. He did his best to admire, but the task was
beyond his powers, and he raised no protest when some scoffer
affirmed that, though Browning might be a great poet, he was a
mighty poor judge of painting, when he gave in his beautiful poem