Using gesture to supplement his scanty vocabulary, Mr. Elver gave instructions to the old woman. She left him the candle and went out. Holding the light high, he led the way from the hall into a large room. They sat down on hard uncomfortable chairs round the empty hearth. “Such an uncomfy house!” said Miss Elver. “You know I don’t like Italy much.” “Dear, dear,” said Mr. Cardan. “That’s bad. Don’t you even like Venice? All the boats and gondolas?” And meeting those blank infantile eyes, he felt that he might almost go on about there being no gee-gees. The cat is on the mat; the pig in the gig is a big pig; the lass on the ass a crass lass. And so on. “Venice?” said Miss Elver. “I’ve not been there.” “Florence, then. Don’t you like Florence?” “Nor there, either.” “Rome? Naples?” Miss Elver shook her head. “We’ve only been here,” she said. “All the time.” Her brother, who had been sitting, bent forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, looking down at the floor, broke silence. “The fact is,” he said in his harsh high voice, “my sister has to keep quiet; she’s doing a rest cure.” “Here?” asked Mr. Cardan. “Doesn’t she find it a bit hot? Rather relaxing?” “Yes, it’s awfully hot, isn’t it?” said Miss Elver. “I’m always telling Philip that.” “I should have thought you’d have been better at the sea, or in the mountains,” said Mr. Cardan. Mr. Elver shook his head. “The doctors,” he said mysteriously, and did not go on. “And the risk of malaria?” “That’s all rot,” said Mr. Elver, with so much violence, such indignation, that Mr. Cardan could only imagine that he was a landed proprietor in these parts and meant to develop his estate as a health resort. “Oh, of course it’s mostly been got rid of,” he said mollifyingly. “The Maremma isn’t what it was.” Mr. Elver said nothing, but scowled at the floor. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VII The dining-room was also large and bare. Four candles burned on the long narrow table; their golden brightness faded in the remoter corners to faint twilight; the shadows were huge and black. Entering, Mr. Cardan could fancy himself Don Juan walking down to supper in the Commander’s vault.