They both disembarked when the steamer reached Fossato, their luggage was piled upon the carriages, and she watched them drive away up the steep, narrow road that led into the town.
The Beverleys had decided to have an early lunch at the hotel by the quay before taking Irene to school.

It was their last meal together, so she was allowed to choose the menu, and regaled the family on hitherto unknown Italian dishes, winding up with coffee, ices, and chocolates.
"I'm glad you don't cater for us every day, Renie, or I should soon be ruined," said Father, as the waiter brought him the bill.

"Now are you ready?
If we don't hurry and get you up quickly to school we shall miss the boat back to Naples.

Another package of chocolates! You unconscionable child! Well, put it in your pocket and console yourself with it at bedtime.

The concierge says our _vetturino_ is waiting--not that any Italian coachman minds doing that! All the same, time is short and we had better make a start." In that first drive through the narrow, steep, stone-paved streets of Fossato Irene was too excited to take in any details except a general impression of rich, foreign color and high, white walls.