"
"We must see the other things they talk about--the nudes."
There was a knock at the door. "Come along!" cried Miss Bonnicastle,
craning back her head to see who would enter. And on the door
opening, she uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Well, this is a day of the unexpected! Didn't know you were in
England."
Piers saw a slim, dark, handsome man, who, in his elegant attire,
rather reminded one of a fashion plate; he came briskly forward,
smiling as if in extreme delight, and bent over the artist's hand,
raising it to his lips.
"Now, _you'd_ never do that," said Miss Bonnicastle, addressing
Otway, with an air of mock gratification. "This is Mr. Florio, the
best-behaved man I know. Signor, you've heard us speak of Mr. Otway.
Behold him!"
"Ah! Mr. Otway, Mr. Otway!" cried the Italian joyously. "Permit me
the pleasure to shake hands with you! One more English friend! I
collect English friends, as others collect pictures, bric-a-brac,
what you will. Indeed, it is my pride to add to the collection--my
privilege, my honour."
After exchange of urbanities, he turned to the exhibition on the
walls, and exhausted his English in florid eulogy, not a word of
which but sounded perfectly sincere. From this he passed to a
glorification of the art of advertisement. It was the triumph of our
century, the supreme outcome of civilisation! Otway, amusedly
observant, asked with a smile what progress the art was making in
Italy.
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