Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely.
He had driven Miss Abbott half demented, but he had given
himself no time to concert a plan. The end came so
suddenly. They emerged from the trees on to the terrace
before the walk, with the vision of half Tuscany radiant in
the sun behind them, and then they turned in through the
Siena gate, and their journey was over. The Dogana men
admitted them with an air of gracious welcome, and they
clattered up the narrow dark street, greeted by that mixture
of curiosity and kindness which makes each Italian arrival
so wonderful.
He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he
received no ordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by
the hand; one person snatched his umbrella, another his bag;
people pushed each other out of his way. The entrance
seemed blocked with a crowd. Dogs were barking, bladder
whistles being blown, women waving their handkerchiefs,
excited children screaming on the stairs, and at the top of
the stairs was Lilia herself, very radiant, with her best
blouse on.
"Welcome!" she cried. "Welcome to Monteriano!" He
greeted her, for he did not know what else to do, and a
sympathetic murmur rose from the crowd below.
"You told me to come here," she continued, "and I don't
forget it. Let me introduce Signor Carella!"
Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who
might eventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly
did not seem so then.
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