This is an annotated version of the book1.contains an updated biography of the author at the end of the book for a better understanding of the text.2.This book has been checked and corrected for spelling errors"The Signora had no business to do it," said Miss Bartlett, "no businessat all. She promised us south rooms with a view close together, insteadof which here are north rooms, looking into a courtyard, and a long wayapart. Oh, Lucy!""And a Cockney, besides!" said Lucy, who had been further saddened bythe Signora's unexpected accent. "It might be London." She looked at thetwo rows of English people who were sitting at the table; at the rowof white bottles of water and red bottles of wine that ran between theEnglish people; at the portraits of the late Queen and the late PoetLaureate that hung behind the English people, heavily framed; at thenotice of the English church (Rev. Cuthbert Eager, M. A. Oxon.), thatwas the only other decoration of the wall. "Charlotte, don't you feel, too, that we might be in London? I can hardly believe that all kinds ofother things are just outside. I suppose it is one's being so tired.""This meat has surely been used for soup," said Miss Bartlett, layingdown her fork."I want so to see the Arno. The rooms the Signora promised us in herletter would have looked over the Arno. The Signora had no business todo it at all. Oh, it is a shame!""Any nook does for me," Miss Bartlett continued; "but it does seem hardthat you shouldn't have a view."Lucy felt that she had been selfish. "Charlotte, you mustn't spoil me: of course, you must look over the Arno, too. I meant that. The firstvacant room in the front--" "You must have it," said Miss Bartlett, partof whose travelling expenses were paid by Lucy's mother--a piece ofgenerosity to which she made many a tactful allusion."No, no. You must have it.""I insist on it. Your mother would never forgive me, Lucy.""She would never forgive me."The ladies' voices grew animated, and--if the sad truth be owned--alittle peevish. They were tired, and under the guise of unselfishnessthey wrangled. Some of their neighbours interchanged glances, and oneof them--one of the ill-bred people whom one does meet abroad--leantforward over the table and actually intruded into their argument. Hesaid: "I have a view, I have a view."Miss Bartlett was startled. Generally at a pension people looked themover for a day or two before speaking, and often did not find out thatthey would "do" till they had gone. She knew that the intruder wasill-bred, even before she glanced at him. He was an old man, of heavybuild, with a fair, shaven face and large eyes. There was somethingchildish in those eyes, though it was not the childishness of senility.What exactly it was Miss Bartlett did not stop to consider, for herglance passed on to his clothes. These did not attract her. He wasprobably trying to become acquainted with them before they got into theswim. So she assumed a dazed expression when he spoke to her, and thensaid: "A view? Oh, a view! How delightful a view is!""This is my son," said the old man; "his name's George. He has a viewtoo.""Ah," said Miss Bartlett, repressing Lucy, who was about to speak."What I mean," he continued, "is that you can have our rooms, and we'llhave yours. We'll change."The better class of tourist was shocked at this, and sympathized withthe new-comers. Miss Bartlett, in reply, opened her mouth as littleas possible, and said "Thank you very much indeed; that is out of thequestion.""Why?" said the old man, with both fists on the table."Because it is quite out of the question, thank you.""You see, we don't like to take--" began Lucy. Her cousin againrepressed her.