“Then there 's another point,” said Beecher, evidently piqued that he had not succeeded in irritating her,--“there 's another point, and you must be especially careful about it,--never, by any chance, let out that you were educated at a school, or a pensionnat, or whatever they call it. If there 's anything she cannot abide, it is the thought of a girl brought up at a school; mind, therefore, only say, 'my governess.'” She smiled and was silent. “Then she'll ask you if you had been 'out,' and when you were presented, and who presented you. She 'll do it so quietly and so naturally, you 'd never guess that she meant any impertinence by it.” “So much the better, for I shall not feel offended.” “As to the drawing-room,” rejoined Beecher, “you must say that you always lived very retiredly,--never came up to town; that your father saw very little company.” “Is not this Chiavenna we 're coming to?” asked Lizzy, a slight--but very slight--flush rising to her cheek. And now the loud cracking of the postilions' whips drowned all other sounds as the horses tore along through the narrow streets, making the frail old houses rock and shiver as they passed. A miserable-looking vetturino carriage stood at the inn door, and was dragged hastily out of the way to make room for the more pretentious equipage. Scarcely had the courier got down than the whole retinue of the inn was in motion, eagerly asking if “Milordo” would not alight, if his “Eccellenza” would not take some refreshment. But his “Eccellenza” would do neither; sooth to say, he was not in the best of humors, and curtly said, “No, I want nothing but post-horses to get out of this wretched place.” “Is n't that like an Englishman?” said a voice from the vetturino carriage to some one beside him. “But I know him,” cried the other, leaping out. “It's the new Viscount Lackington.” And with this he approached the carriage, and respectfully removing his hat, said, “How d'ye do, my Lord?” “Ah, Spicer! you here?” said Beecher, half haughtily. “Off to England, I suppose?” “No, my Lord, I 'm bound for Rome.” “So are we, too. Lady Lackington and myself,” added be, correcting at once a familiar sort of a glance that Spicer found time to bestow upon Lizzy. “Do you happen to know if Lady Georgina is there?” “Yes, my Lord, at the Palazzo Gondi, on the Pintian;” and here Spicer threw into his look an expression of respectful homage to her Ladyship. “Palazzo Gondi; will you try and remember that address?” said Beecher to his wife. And then, waving his hand to Spicer, he added, “Good-bye,--meet you at Rome some of these days,” and was gone. CHAPTER XXVIII. AT ROME