My thoughts were wandering toward the English lakes, and a bit of grouse-shooting with my uncle up in Scotland, when the faithful Francesco re-entered, saying-- "I've sent the captain and his madman away till this afternoon, signore.
But there is an English signore waiting to see you." "Who is he ?" "I don't know him.

He will give no name, but wants to see the Signor Console." "All right, show him in," I said lazily, and a few moments later a tall, smartly-dressed, middle-aged Englishman, in a navy serge yachting suit, entered, and bowing, enquired whether I was the British Consul.
When he had seated himself I explained my position, whereupon he said-- "I couldn't make much out of your clerk.

He speaks so brokenly, and I don't know a word of Italian.

But perhaps I ought to first introduce myself.

My name is Philip Hornby," and he handed me a card bearing the name with the addresses "Woodcroft Park, Somerset ------ Brook's." Then he added: "I am cruising on board my yacht, the _Lola_, and last night we unfortunately went aground on the Meloria.