"I know you don't like out-of-door sightseeing when it's windy,
and blows your hair about, but--"
"We might try, and if I don't like it, we can go on," replied Lady
Turnour, patronizing the remains of Roman greatness, since it appeared
to be the "thing" for the nobility and gentry to do.
The chauffeur obediently turned the big blue Aigle, and let her sail
into the very centre of the vast arena where Caesar saw gladiators fight
and die.
It was very noble, very inspiring, and from some shady corner promptly
emerged a quaintly picturesque old guardian, ready to pour forth floods
of historic information. He introduced himself as a soldier who had seen
fighting in Mexico under Maximilian, therefore the better able to
appreciate and fulfil his present task. But her ladyship listened for
awhile with lack-lustre eyes, and finally, when dates were flying about
her ears like hail, calmly interrupted to say that she was "glad she
hadn't lived in the days when you had to go to the theatre out of
doors."
"I can't understand more than one word in twelve that the old thing
says, anyhow," she went on.
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