Dad Meinhardis is busy. A big basket stands on the table in front of him and the head waiter helps him pack it. Neither of them pays attention to the bright blue sea behind them and not to the palm trees waving softly in the morning breeze.

Meinhardis carefully touches by fingers the parcels, one at a time. Cold chicken and some caviar on ice. If only it doesn't melt, he thinks. Here's toast. Here's wine, red, tart Sicilian. The first good tangerines—how they smell! Meinhardis wears a light grey suit. His face is tanned by the sun. His light grey hat accentuates this tan even more. Well, of course the ladies weren't ready. He hadn't expected it, but at least the carriage was at the door. The ringing of the bells could be heard as far as here in the hall.

The waiter stowed the basket in the carriage. When Meinhardis turned, the ladies were standing in the doorway. He was greeted by bright exclamations of delight at the colourfully harnessed horses, the merry coachman, the bouquets of flowers decorating the carriage, the silken cushions and dust rugs. The Lieutenant Colonel had once again thought of everything. As they sat down, the porter handed Meinhardis two letters on a silver plate, which he quickly stuffed into his inner coat pocket because he had to wrap Ray Cammar's feet in the dust rug.

"Your feet mustn't get dusty," he said, pushing his small, lightly shod foot inside the carriage. The two ladies sat in the back, he sat behind the coachman and shouted, "Avanti, avanti!" (move forward); whereupon the carriage started moving with the cracking of a whip.

"What did you do last night after we went to bed?" Ray asked, pretending to speak to a very little boy whom she had to mother and train in the right path. She was tall and blonde. She was tall and blonde. Her lovely summer toilette, the large light straw hat and the white veil around her shoulders made her look a little younger than she was. Miss Hill, a dried-up, small plum, also seemed to be engaged for this purpose.

Meinhardis seemed to like being spoken to in that tone. Because a flattered smile crossed his handsome face.

»Oh, Ray, don't always be so strict with me! I was very good. I just drank a little more wine and then I went to bed too."

"Whom did you drink the wine with? Surely with Miss Booth-I know you, Lieutenant-Colonel."

"Oh, Miss Booth," Meinhardis pouted, "how can you believe that! I and Miss Booth . . ."

"Well, well, she always blushes when you toast her; I see everything, my dear."

"Oh no," Meinhardis said modestly, "she's not even thinking about it." But he felt flattered at the thought; because Miss Booth was very pretty, much prettier than Ray. But she was so closely guarded by her elderly parents that there was little to be gained for a man who liked to be alone with a young woman.

"But, Ray, you know I love only you!" He pulled her gloved hand to his mouth in an ironic gesture.

"Didn't I do that nicely for you?"

He made a slight move by his arm towards the sea and Palermo, which was now below them, as if this were all his own work.

"Beautiful, wonderful, sweet!" both ladies oohed. "That was a lovely idea of yours, a picnic on the Pellegrino-so poetic! You are a marvellous man!" they praised him, and he was pleased.

"But you got two love letters and didn't read them. Aren't you curious?"

"Oh, only women are curious. Of course, you want to know whom the letters are from. One is from the Princess Trani in Rome, who longs for me, and the other is from the Mafia, threatening me with murder if I love you."

Both ladies laughed. "Maybe," said Ray, "we women are curious. But still, we're nowhere near as liars as men are.

Meinhardis, now serious, reached for the two letters. He had recognised Manuela's handwriting. The other letter was also from Hochdorf, but he did not know from whom, so he opened it first. He read attentively, with an expression that the ladies didn't recognise in him. One side and a second one. Suddenly, he exploded into laughter.

"Amazing, no, amazing—I like this! Do you know what the Headmistress of the school where they put my little one is writing to me? She says my daughter is a gifted child, but unfortunately tends to be impertinent!"

Meinhardis slapped his knee and both ladies giggled.

"Totally father," Ray stated.

And Meinhardis, as if he had done a meritorious deed, said,

"What, this girl is like me, eh! She doesn't let crazy old hags command her respect! She's right! God knows what the women wanted from her!" Hastily, he picked up the other letter, the one from Lela.

"Dear Dad!" he read, "Today is Sunday, the only day on which we are allowed to write letters. Apart from this, one doesn't really know what to do on Sundays. I would really like you to come here sometime. I just can't tell you why. I'm learning a lot of French, so that I can later travel like you and speak all the languages. I can speak English quite well. Also, our Miss is very nice. Please, send me a lot of picture postcards for my locker!

Do you know Italian? One can't learn this here.

Many greetings from

your grateful daughter

Manuela"

Meinhardis sighed. Such a funny letter. The ladies were also disappointed. Finally, he said with a sigh, "But what should the poor child write; all the letters are read. That's a mean thing. "But she must have had a row," he laughed again, "if she shown her 'tendency to impertinence'."

Again, no longer quite genuine, the two ladies laughed along. Mainly to put their companion in a good mood again; because Ray couldn't do anything with a worried dad. And Miss Hill helped to save the day.

"It's always very good to send little girls to boarding houses."

"Yes," said Ray, "I was at a convent school too."

Meinhardis pricked up his ears, "What, you in a convent school? Well, I can't even imagine that."

"I was actually very pious," she hastened to counter his doubts.

But nevertheless, everybody remained silent for a while. Then they came to a bench at a lookout point and Meinhardis suggested they take a break here. The ladies got out and the Lieutenant-Colonel took a few glasses and a fiasco from the basket. Three glasses clinked together to the health of little Manuela, with the earnest wish that her impertinence would stay with her for a long time to come.

"I'll send her tangerines tomorrow," Meinhardis said.