He ceased to be revived. He smoked in silence. The effect on her of Italy was as surprising as it was unexpected. At Kökensee she had been entirely concentrated on him, eagerly listening only to him, drinking in only what he said, worshipping. Here she seemed possessed by a rage for any sights and sounds merely because they were new. There had been moments from the very start in Berlin when he almost felt of secondary interest, and they appeared to be becoming permanent. It was disturbing. It was incredible. It was grotesque. Perhaps it would be as well to take her away from the lakes, from all that part of the country which apparently caught her imagination on its most sensitive side. Perhaps Milan for a while, with pavements and museums. "Please, will you give me some of that money?" she asked across his reflections. "Which money?" he said, looking at her. "My money." "What on earth for?" "I want to send Robert a picture postcard." He threw his cigarette away. "It would be most improper," he said, passing his hand rapidly over his hair. "Highly improper." "Improper?" she echoed, staring at him. "To send Robert a picture postcard?" "Grossly. It simply isn't done." "What? Not send Robert--but he'd like to see where we've got to." "For heaven's sake don't _talk_ about Robert," he exclaimed, getting up quickly; the idea of the picture postcard profoundly shocked him. "Not talk about him?" she repeated, staring at him in astonishment. "But he's my husband." "Exactly. That's what makes him so improper." "What? Why, I thought husbands were just the very things that never could be improper." "Ingeborg," he said, walking angrily up and down in front of her, "are you or are you not being taken care of on this--this holiday by me? Are you or are you not travelling with me?" "Yes, I know. But I don't see why I shouldn't send Rob--" "Well, then, if you don't see you must believe. You've just got to believe me when I tell you certain things are impossible." "But Robert--" "Good heavens, don't _talk_ of Robert. If I beg you not to, if I tell you it spoils things for me, if I ask you as a favour--" He stopped in front of her. "My dear, my little mate, my everything that's central and alive among the husks--" "Of course I won't, then. At least, I'll try to remember not to," she said, looking at him with a smile that had effort in it as well as surprise. "But I don't see why a picture postcard--" The steamer they had seen for so long, the last one of the day from Arona to Locarno, was nearing the pier, and the piazza suddenly swarmed with busy groups preparing to go on it or see each other off. "Let's come away," said Ingram, impatiently. "Let's come _away_!" he repeated with a stamp of his foot. "I hate this crowd." She got up and walked beside him towards the hôtel, her eyes on the ground. "I really can't see why I shouldn't send Robert--" she began. "Oh, damn Robert!" he exclaimed violently.