Aaron sat and listened and wondered at the wisdom and the genuine kindness of the young beau. And more still, he wondered at the profound social disillusionment. This handsome collie dog was something of a social wolf, half showing his fangs at the moment. But with genuine kindheartedness for another wolf. Aaron was touched.

“Yes, I think that’s the best way,” he said.

“You do! Yes, so do I. Oh, they are such queer people! Why is it, do you think, that English people abroad go so very QUEER—so ultra– English—INCREDIBLE!—and at the same time so perfectly impossible? But impossible! Pathological, I assure you.—And as for their sexual behaviour—oh, dear, don’t mention it. I assure you it doesn’t bear mention.—And all quite flagrant, quite unabashed—under the cover of this fanatical Englishness. But I couldn’t begin to TELL you all the things. It’s just incredible.”

Aaron wondered how on earth Francis had been able to discover and bear witness to so much that was incredible, in a bare two days. But a little gossip, and an addition of lurid imagination will carry you anywhere.

“Well now,” said Francis. “What are you doing today?”

Aaron was not doing anything in particular.

“Then will you come and have dinner with us—?”

Francis fixed up the time and the place—a small restaurant at the other end of the town. Then he leaned out of the window.

“Fascinating place! Oh, fascinating place!” he said, soliloquy. “And you’ve got a superb view. Almost better than ours, I think.— Well then, half–past seven. We’re meeting a few other people, mostly residents or people staying some time. We’re not inviting them. Just dropping in, you know—a little restaurant. We shall see you then! Well then, a rivederci till this evening.—So glad you like Florence! I’m simply loving it—revelling. And the pictures!—Oh—”

The party that evening consisted all of men: Francis and Angus, and a writer, James Argyle, and little Algy Constable, and tiny Louis Mee, and deaf Walter Rosen. They all snapped and rattled at one another, and were rather spiteful but rather amusing. Francis and Angus had to leave early. They had another appointment. And James Argyle got quite tipsy, and said to Aaron:

“But, my boy, don’t let yourself be led astray by the talk of such people as Algy. Beware of them, my boy, if you’ve a soul to save. If you’ve a soul to save!” And he swallowed the remains of his litre.

Algy’s nose trembled a little, and his eyes blinked. “And if you’ve a soul to LOSE,” he said, “I would warn you very earnestly against Argyle.” Whereupon Algy shut one eye and opened the other so wide, that Aaron was almost scared. “Quite right, my boy. Ha! Ha! Never a truer thing said! Ha–ha–ha.” Argyle laughed his Mephistophelian tipsy laugh. “They’ll teach you to save. Never was such a lot of ripe old savers! Save their old trouser–buttons! Go to them if you want to learn to save. Oh, yes, I advise it seriously. You’ll lose nothing— not even a reputation.—You may lose a SOUL, of course. But that’s a detail, among such a hoard of banknotes and trouser–buttons. Ha–ha! What’s a soul, to them—?”