It was Saturday; Wilfrid had no occasion for leaving home and already they had enjoyed in advance the two unbroken days.
'But I should indeed like to hear her,' Emily said, 'and she seems to sing so rarely.' 'She has only just returned to England,' Wilfrid remarked They had heard of Beatrice having been in Florence a week or two prior to their own stay there.

She was travelling with the Baxendales.

Emily was anxious to meet her, and Wilfrid had held out a hope that this might come about in Italy, but circumstances had proved adverse.
'Have you seen her ?' Emily inquired.
Her husband had not.

He seemed at first a little disinclined to go up for the concert, but on Emily's becoming silent he hastened to give a cheerful acquiescence.
'Couldn't we see her to-morrow ?' she went on to ask.
'No doubt we can.

It's only the facing of my aunt's drawing-room on a Sunday afternoon.' 'O, surely that is needless, Wilfrid?
Couldn't we go and see her quietly?
She would be at home in the morning, I should think.' 'I should think so.