Now, there must be some excitement in Southern Italy.
There's Vesuvius, and she isn't dead--like Nero--but a living demon,
that may erupt any night, and give you a little red grave by the sea for
your share."
"She's not nearly through yet," laughed Edith, as Mae paused for breath.
"I'm only afraid," said Mae, "that after I had been down there a week,
I should forget English, buy a contadina costume, marry a child of the
sun, and run away from this big world with its puzzles and lessons,
and rights and wrongs. Imagine me in my doorway as you passed in your
travelling carriage, hot and tired on your way--say to Sorrento. I would
dress my beautiful Italian all up in scarlet flowers and wreathe his big
hat and kiss his brown eyes and take his brown hand, and then we would
run along by the bay and laugh at you stiff, grand world's folks as we
skipped past you."
"We shall know where to look for you, if ever you do disappear," said
Norman Mann.
"But, my dear Mae," added Albert, "though this is amusing, it is utterly
useless.
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