set our house in order and retire from it.

Captain Mifsud Samut Azzopardi did not come in person to take back the house, as he had done to hand it over to us he sent an agent. This person went over the inventory with considerably more meticulousness and less bonhomie than the Chocolate Soldier. Every hair of its head, every sparrow that fell, so to speak -and our over-civil laxness at the beginning rather recoiled on us now. We had paid our rent, including a fortnight too much; but next day we got back a list of breakages, damage, and loss that amounted to nearly as much as our whole rent. Not a chip or scratch in all the much-worn furniture but we had done. And his seeming friendliness and our credulity to blame ! But one item we did know was not our doing, and that was the bath. After having got smeared with putty at every bath for six months, it was hard to be expected to give the owner a new one in the end.

"I will go and explain at once," announced Octavia, and I felt that no mere man-even un-English-would survive that look of determination. The Chocolate Soldier seemed to know that too, for he refused to meet it. His servant had evidently strict orders to allow in no foreign female under any pretext. No-the captain was not in; he was away; he was ill; he was busy; he could not see us. Now we knew he was in, having seen him go into his office not five minutes before, but obviously we could not rush his door.

There was only one exchange

of letters on the subject of the bath. He maintained we had not only cracked it, but that "it was obvious hot baths had been frequently indulged in."

So grave an accusation was not to be met-not at least in the Maltese courts, where litigation under the peculiar rules of the Maltese might last for months, so we paid: since when I have scored off the list of working proverbs the one that "civility costs nothing"!

Trekking through Sicily, Italy, and France attached to our linen-basket and other heavy luggage was not to be thought of. I don't know which I hate most-travelling with it or letting it go alone. For having once seen busy docks, it is an act of faith indeed to confide one's belongings to them, and to keep any

hope of being reunited hereafter. But with SO many changes and so many Customs Houses scattered on our land way home, it was the lesser evil to say farewell, a long farewell, to all our great boxes, and let them go home by sea. Our final packing could not be done at any given time, for no one seems to know when the

thought for the morrow's weather: it is always just "another damned fine day," and what one wears is thin, easily washed, and on our now baking roof very easily dried.

At last she did come, and we only had some two hours to shut up the house, pack our remaining belongings, and say farewell to Dolores and Carmèla. At the last moment we found that they laid great store by a "written reference," as English ladies are transitory beings, and we, departing, were implored to leave behind us footprints in the sand of time in the form of "written testimonials" to their virtues. I don't know how they compared with other Maltese domestics, but they were on the whole an improvement on the British variety. They were in minor matters, as Madame Patapouffe had said, "thiefs and liars," but then they had no objection to one's saying and that was a most piquant and amusing difference to the "have-the-law-ofyou " attitude at home. They were always gay and goodnatured, and when confronted with their little misdemeanours, just shrugged their shoulders and smiled, obviously thinking,

We got on board the little ship-in comparison to which the Europa was an Olympic !

about six in the evening. The Grand Harbour was looking its very grandest self as we steamed away from it. On one side the dear Barracca, standing up grey against the sky; and on the other the Three Cities, lit up into rosecolour by the evening sun, which was beginning to gather its setting clouds of purple and scarlet; and the golden western sky was reflected on the ripples of the wonderful blue sea.

Such a scene should

surely have brought to mind some fine poetic passage, but with horrid contrariness of memory I could think of nothing but that jaundiced jangling "Farewell to Malta," which is surely the low-water mark of Byron's unequal genius. Poor man! He seems to have been unpopular both at the Palace and with the military! The latter is probably not the best medium for a melancholy poet to shine in!

"Adieu, the supercilious air

Of all that strut 'en militaire'!"

he scoffs, and sums up the whole place as

"Thou little military hot-house!"

So he, with all his genius, romanticism, and unconventionality, still had not as much originality as we had, and saw no more of wonderful" Melita "

There were on board only two other approximately English-speaking people. They told us they lived in "Sirracuse," and were "just tickled to find there's another Sirracuse in this little old island." These two people were of importance to us only because their existence made sight-seeing at "Sirracuse" a problem and a game of hide-and-seek, one Syracuse at a time being enough for us. The Capitano, with infinite grace and unscrupulousness, directed their "Yurrup "-trotting feet in the wrong direction; and if they never saw the Ear of Dionysius, we at least were saved their transpontine voices reverberating through it! And how they would have reverberated! In that extraordinary rock-cleft even the tearing of

Getting our train, our seats, and, later, our food, was all made simple for us by Captain Castellani, and I watched, amazed, Octavia's docility under management, and with infinite amusement the Capitano's total unconsciousness of anything noticeable in the fact.

The journey through Sicily was captivating in its beauty, and the crossing at Messina a delightful novelty, with the train itself a passenger on the ferry! But the rest of the journey! Beautiful Italy is, no doubt, but an Italian train at the end of June would annihilate one's interest in Paradise, supposing it took the wrong turning and got one there.

Never have I been so dirty! Any railway-train can give one mildly mildly grimy paws and a grimier feeling; but this journey made me not merely dirty, but "heroically so"! There is little protection in thin summer dresses, and dust-coats we did not possess, so it was not merely dirty hands and facesit was a layer of dirt all over that we acquired; and when we reached Rome, it took the equivalent of three baths in one to remove it. One of our added worries on the way was a pair of obstreperous children in the next carriage. The boy -a reasonable enough little being of about eight-was pursued and persecuted by a little French minx of perhaps a year less.

He bore with her well enough

Our ginger-beer "blow-out " finished when we arrived at Rome, and so should this account. There was nothing of the ginger-beer standard about our short stay in Rome-indeed, judging from my very hazy muddled recollections of it, it was more of a "mixed drink standard "! We saw churches innumerable, and cattiercombs than the Maltese ones, palaces old and new, and arches and ruins beyond number, and the very name of Rome now gives me spasms of mental indigestion. While we were there, our Capitano, who was personally conducting this little tour of two, got a letter from his mother, inviting both his English lady friends to stay a few days with her and "my Ottone."

not a thing," answered Octavia snubbingly. "It is Captain Castellani's Christian name."

"I wonder what it means," I mused. "I never heard it before. Did you?"

But, of course, Octavia had. I would have been all for going, but I also had got a letter, from Bobbie, saying he was just going on leave, and would meet me in London in two days' time.

66

But you should certainly go, Octavia," I said with decision. It would be most interesting to stay in a real Italian country-house, with a real Italian family, a very noble family too, according to the Chocolate Soldier-may the geyser scald him, and the new bath burst with him! And it would be delightful to see Onoto in his family life."

"I suppose you mean Ottone," Octavia corrected me frigidly.

"Of course, dear, though I didn't know you called Captain Castellani that-yet." I added the "yet" pianissimo!

But I saw if I went on with more mild persiflage on the matter, Octavia would become obstinate and poor Onoto-I mean Ottone-would be left lamenting, or, worse still, recovering! So, after much solemn discussion, Octavia consented to go, and study the rural conditions of northern Italy!