The basket was drawn up, the women gossiped and laughed for a while in pleasant voices, then they disappeared.

All around, the familiar Neapolitan clamour was beginning.
Church bells were ringing as they ring at Naples--a great crash, followed by a rapid succession of quivering little shakes, then the crash again.

Hawkers were crying fruit and vegetables and fish in rhythmic cadence; a donkey was braying obstreperously.
Mallard had just taken a light overcoat on his arm, and was ready to set out, when some one knocked.

He turned the key in the door, and admitted Reuben Elgar.
"I'm off to Pompeii," said Elgar, vivaciously.
"All right.

You'll go to the 'Sole'?
I shall be there myself to-morrow evening." "I'm right to stay several days, so we shall have more talk." They left the house together, and presently parted with renewed assurance of meeting again on the morrow.
Mallard went his way thoughtfully, the smile quickly passing from his face.