Page 325 - tender-is-the-night

XXII

There were five people in the Quirinal bar after dinner, a
highclass Italian frail who sat on a stool making persistent
conversation against the bartender’s bored: ‘Si ... Si ... Si,’ a
light, snobbish Egyptian who was lonely but chary of the
woman, and the two Americans.
Dick was always vividly conscious of his surroundings,
while Collis Clay lived vaguely, the sharpest impressions
dissolving upon a recording apparatus that had early atro-
phied, so the former talked and the latter listened, like a
man sitting in a breeze.
Dick, worn away by the events of the afternoon, was tak-
ing it out on the inhabitants of Italy. He looked around the
bar as if he hoped an Italian had heard him and would re-
sent his words.
‘This afternoon I had tea with my sister-in-law at the
Excelsior. We got the last table and two men came up and
looked around for a table and couldn’t find one. So one of
them came up to us and said, ‘Isn’t this table reserved for
the Princess Orsini?’ and I said: ‘There was no sign on it,’
and he said: ‘But I think it’s reserved for the Princess Orsi-
ni.’ I couldn’t even answer him.’
‘What’d he do?’
‘He retired.’ Dick switched around in his chair. ‘I don’t
like these people. The other day I left Rosemary for two

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