He was a brown skeleton of a man with dark,
deep, sunken eyes and a black mustache that hid the meaning of his
mouth. Though he had the look of one wasted by some tropical disease,
his movements were much more alert than those of his lounging companion.
"It's all settled," announced the lady, with great animation, when
they came within hailing distance. "You've all got to put on
masquerade things and very likely skates as well, though the prince
says they don't go with it; but we don't care about that. It's
freezing already, and we don't often get such a chance in England."
"Even in India we don't exactly skate all the year round," observed
Mr. Brain.
"And even Italy is not primarily associated with ice," said the
Italian.
"Italy is primarily associated with ices," remarked Mr. Horne
Fisher. "I mean with ice cream men. Most people in this country
imagine that Italy is entirely populated with ice cream men and
organ grinders. There certainly are a lot of them; perhaps they're
an invading army in disguise."
"How do you know they are not the secret emissaries of our
diplomacy?" asked the prince, with a slightly scornful smile. "An
army of organ grinders might pick up hints, and their monkeys might
pick up all sort of things."
"The organs are organized in fact," said the flippant Mr.
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