“Pshaw, don’t!” Mr. Wake begged. “I didn’t mean you and I don’t mean to be a preachy old codger, but I do think one sees more if one appreciates and doesn’t _de_preciate. You know, as a matter of fact you wouldn’t go into a neighbor’s house and say, ‘My house is better than your house, my bath tub is shinier; my doorbell is louder, my front porch is wider--’ and lots of us--in various ways--do just that, for this is a neighbor’s house.” I said a really humble “Thank you--” and Mr. Wake moved over to sit by me. He looked down and smiled in a very gentle way, and I began to love him. “You are a very nice, sensible little girl,” he said; “how old are you!” I told him. “And why are you off here alone at eighteen?” he asked. “I am going to Florence to study piano with Mr. Michele Paggi,” I responded. “Well, _well_!” said Mr. Wake. And then he laughed. “I know him,” he said after the laugh. “And my, my, what a fire-eater he is! Well--you seem to like adventure. . . . But whatever started you this way?” “It really is a fairy story,” I said, “and it is so romantic that I sometimes can’t quite believe it, and I know I never shall be sure it isn’t all a dream--” “That _is_ nice,” Mr. Wake broke in, “and it’s hard to believe that I sit by a young lady who instead of asking questions will weave me a tale. Good fairies in it?” “Yes,” I answered, “and a fairy godmother, who wears Paris hats, and always tilted just a little over one eye, and soft silk dresses, and gray furs that match her fluffy, wavy, light gray hair--” “Ah,” said Mr. Wake, “then she is the sort that I, myself, might fancy!” “Oh, you _would_!” I asserted surely; and it seems very, very funny to recall that now! CHAPTER THREE LUNCH AND SOME MODERN HISTORY I went into reverse for Mr. Wake, because he seemed interested in my own fairy story, but I didn’t begin to tell it until after lunch. Buying our lunches was the most interesting kind of a business transaction, and unpacking them was interesting too. “At the next station,” Mr. Wake said, “I am going to get two mighty good lunches that come packed in little baskets, and there will be a little wicker-covered bottle, full of wine, that you can use for hair tonic or scent after it’s empty--” And then the train slowed and he leaned far out of the opened window that was in the door of our compartment.