And then I rang the pension bell and went in and up. Going in, and away from all the shrill, staccato street noises, and the smells--which sometimes aren’t nice, but are always different--going in and away from all this seemed tame, but after I got up and Beata had opened the door, I was glad I had been decent enough to consider Miss Julianna’s feelings because-- Miss Leslie Parrish, of Oyster Bay, Long Island, and Miss Viola Harris-Clarke, of Ossining, New York, had arrived! I heard them before they heard me, which is, perhaps, unfair, but it is sometimes also a decided advantage, and I _needed_ all the advantages on my side! I knew it as soon as I heard them speak, and that they would probably consider me countrified and make fun of me. I didn’t care, but I was glad to get used to the idea of our being so different, before we met and I was plumped up against all that manner at one time. It didn’t take a Signorina Sherlock Holmes to know that they had come, and I didn’t need Beata’s wild pointing, for I heard their voices immediately although they were in a room that was well down the hall. The first thing I heard was, “Simply _impossible_!” (I knew in a second that it was Leslie, and that it was her comment about the room) “You mean to say,” she went on, “that my aunt has _seen_ this?” “Si, Signorina,” Miss Julianna answered, and she didn’t sound as if she were smiling. “Well,” I heard in Leslie’s pretty, carefully used voice, “that is very _strange_! What do you _think_, Viola?” “I don’t know, dear,” came in a higher, and a little more artificial voice, and then there was a silence. A short, baffled kind of laugh, prefaced Leslie’s “I’m absolutely at sea! I don’t know whether to stay or not--but I--vowed I _would_--” “We might get a few things,” suggested Viola. “_Yes_--” (doubtfully) “but the walls--streaks and soil--I _don’t_ know!” Again there was a silence. “You do as you like,” said Miss Julianna quickly and in a rather brittle way. “I have keep the rooms at order of Mees Parrish, but you do not haf to stay--” And then she came out of the room, and down the hall toward me. “_Insolent!_” I heard in Leslie’s voice, and I wasn’t much impressed. CHAPTER SEVEN GETTING ACQUAINTED That night, after a dinner during which Leslie and Viola looked as if they were chewing lemons, I went to call on them because I thought it was the polite thing to do. Goodness knows, I didn’t want to! I was afraid that they would purr along about the weather, and that I would have to bob my head and smirk and say, “Yes, isn’t it _charmingly_ warm for this time of year?” and that kind of stuff which certainly bores me! But they didn’t even bother to do that! They talked across me, and, although it wasn’t comfortable, I will admit that it was instructive. I think one can learn so _much_ about people when they don’t think it is worth while to be polite, or think they are alone in the bosom of their family.