Taken altogether, they were a remarkable
couple, and presented a distinguished appearance. I believe I am not
a conceited man, but I could not help wondering whether their thoughts
paid me a similar compliment, for I certainly detected both of them
casting more than one curious glance toward our table; and when the
man whispered once to a waiter, I was sure that I formed the subject
of his question. Perhaps he, also, remembered our two encounters.
"I wonder if there's any chance of a row?" said Denny, in a tone that
sounded wistful. "Going to take anybody with you, Charlie?"
"Only Watkins. I must have him; he always knows where everything is;
and I've told Hogvardt, my old dragoman, to meet us in Rhodes. He'll
talk their own language to the beggars, you know."
"But he's a German, isn't he?"
"He thinks so," I answered. "He's not certain, you know. Anyhow, he
chatters Greek like a parrot. He's a pretty good man in a row, too.
But there won't be a row, you know."
"I suppose there won't," admitted Denny, ruefully.
"For my own part," said I meekly, "as I'm going there to be quiet, I
hope there won't."
In the interest of conversation I had forgotten our neighbors; but
now, a lull occurring in Denny's questions and surmises, I heard the
lady's voice. She began a sentence--and began it in Greek! That was a
little unexpected; but it was more strange that her companion cut her
short, saying very peremptorily, "Don't talk Greek; talk Italian.
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