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He rose and arranged the cushions to her liking. In doing so he
must have made some funny remark in her ear, for she smiled wanly as
she said:
"Grazie, Don Francesco."
"Means thank you, I suppose," thought the Bishop. "But why is he a
don?"
Of the other alien travellers, those charming but rather metallic
American ladies had retired to the cabin; so had the English family; so
had everybody, in fact. On deck there remained of the foreign
contingent nobody but himself and Mr. Muhlen, a flashy over-dressed
personage who seemed to relish the state of affairs. He paced up and
down, cool as a cucumber, trying to walk like a sailor, and blandly
indifferent to the agonized fellow-creatures whom the movements of the
vessel caused him to touch, every now and then, with the point of his
patent-leather boots. Patent-leather boots. That alone classes him,
thought Mr. Heard. Once he paused and remarked, in his horrible
pronunciation of English:
"That woman over there with the child! I wonder what I would do in her
place? Throw it into the water, I fancy.


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