She was about to enter the room, when the scene which was going on there arrested her attention. She paused, and stood spellbound on the threshold, watching it. Several of the visitors of Casa Dietrich were seated at the table, either breakfasting or waiting till their breakfasts should be ready. Some were reading newspapers, some had letters, some were in conversation. At the end of the table nearest the door were seated a pair who, having been there a week, were this morning going away. They had been at Rome before, and had merely been here this time, they said, to refresh their memories. They were Scottish, sententious, conventional and orthodox. The husband was elderly--verging on old--with a queer, ruddy apple kind of face, surrounded with a bristly little white beard, which made a sort of frame for it. His nose was red at the tip, and his excessively near-sighted light-blue eyes looked weak and watery. He somewhat resembled some aged and faithful Highland retainer as seen on the stage; and one felt rather surprised than otherwise to find, when he rose up, that he was clad, not in kilt and sporran, but in a pair of black-and-white check trousers. His lady-wife was more patriotic in her garb, and wore a gown of some bright tartan, of rather a large pattern. A blue ribbon was tied round her neck, and in her light hair--she was much younger than her spouse--was always to be seen a pin of great dimensions, ever stuck into the selfsame coil of the selfsame plait, and surmounted by one large and flawless imitation pearl. Hans Riemann had dubbed her ‘the Scotch Pearl’ within five minutes of first seeing her. The name by which the couple was known to the world at large was Macdougall. There they sat, having finished their meal, and held in conversation or discussion no less a person than Signor Oriole. His back was turned towards Minna, but she saw from his shoulders that he was vexed, rasped, disgusted. His rusty frock-coat drooped mournfully towards his knees; his head was thrown back. While he listened and answered, he was engaged, as Minna saw with a sudden feeling of painful surprise, in gathering together their cups and saucers, their plates and egg-cups, and putting them on to a tray which stood in front of him. The husband of the Scotch Pearl seldom interfered in his wife’s arrangements--it was she who led the conversation, in something which, as Minna gathered, was intended for French. ‘Nous partongs aujordwee,’ she remarked to Giuseppe, folding her arms and looking at him, while the pearl gleamed from the plaits of auburn. ‘Angsee nous voulongs avwor notter congt. Est-il prête?’ ‘Le voici, madame,’ replied Giuseppe, with the utmost promptitude, producing an envelope from his pocket. ‘Ow! Mercy!’ said the Pearl, somewhat taken aback by this readiness of retort. ‘Laisong nous vawr,’ she added, opening it, and perusing the items, carefully checking them off with her fingers.