“If you like,” he proceeded comfortably, “you may rush around and see as much of the city as possible. There is a big omnibus at the door. Personally, I am going to do nothing of the kind. I intend to sit and smoke, and then--smoke and sit. I am done with the proper and expected thing in every one of its forms. I have always hated churches; and the spots where soldiers fell or martyrs were burned, monuments, just annoy me; and picture galleries give me colds in the head. Above all else I don't want to be improved; if I hear a fact of any sort I am going to bed for the rest of the day.” “I don't care about those, either,” Savina assented; “but the stores, yes. I have to have a mantilla and a high comb right away, now; and--I warn you--if it's only in our room I'm going to wear them. If I could get you into it I'd bring back a shell jacket covered with green braid and a wide scarlet sash, or whatever an espada wears.” “A guitar and a carnation ought to do,” he responded. “Count on me for nothing until the evening, when, if you care to, we'll drive along the sea, one way and then the other, and have dinner where we happen to be. I hope you will wear the most extravagant and holiday clothes--white, and very ruffled and thin, would be nice, with emeralds.” “It's a good thing I have a lot of money,” she observed; “you have some, of course, but it wouldn't begin to support your ambitions.” “I don't even care which of us has it,” he admitted; “so it's there. A year ago I should have looked pained and insisted that I couldn't accept, nor allow you to use, your own money. I don't exactly have to ask you for a taxi-cab fare, though, luckily; but if you did bring the emeralds I saw you wearing in New York don't throw them away on my account.” “They are here,” she assured him. “William gave them to me when we were married.” “Splendid, together with Fanny's pearl,” he replied placidly; “I was afraid they had been a legacy from your mother. I much prefer them to have been William's--it will give them such a Utopian sparkle.”