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“Now, Mother,” interrupted Henry Gregg, “the lady can’t be interested in your club.”

“Oh, but I am!” exclaimed Mary Gowd very vivaciously. “Enormously!”

Henry Gregg eyed her through his cigar smoke with suddenly narrowed lids.

“M-m-m! Well, let’s get to the point anyway. I know Tweetie here is dying to see St. Peter’s, and all that.”

Tweetie had settled back inscrutably after one comprehensive, disdainful look at Mary Gowd’s suit, hat, gloves and shoes. Now she sat up, her bewitching face glowing with interest.

“Tell me,” she said, “what do they call those officers with the long pale-blue capes and the silver helmets and the swords? And the ones in dark-blue uniform with the maroon stripe at the side of the trousers? And do they ever mingle with the–that is, there was one of the blue capes here at tea yesterday–“

Papa Gregg laughed a great, comfortable laugh.

“Oh, so that’s where you were staring yesterday, young lady! I thought you acted kind of absent-minded.” He got up to walk over and pinch Tweetie’s blushing cheek.

So it was that Mary Gowd began the process of pouring the bloody, religious, wanton, pious, thrilling, dreadful history of Rome into the pretty and unheeding ear of Tweetie Gregg.

On the fourth morning after that introductory meeting Mary Gowd arrived at the hotel at ten, as usual, to take charge of her party for the day. She encountered them in the hotel foyer, an animated little group centred about a very tall, very dashing, very black-mustachioed figure who wore a long pale blue cape thrown gracefully over one shoulder as only an Italian officer can wear such a garment. He was looking down into the brilliantly glowing face of the pretty Eleanora, and the pretty Eleanora was looking up at him; and Pa and Ma Gregg were standing by, placidly pleased.

A grim little line appeared about Miss Gowd’s mouth. Blue Cape’s black eyes saw it, even as he bent low over Mary Gowd’s hand at the words of introduction.

“Oh, Miss Gowd,” pouted Tweetie, “it’s too bad you haven’t a telephone. You see, we shan’t need you to-day.”

“No?” said Miss Gowd, and glanced at Blue Cape.

“No; Signor Caldini says it’s much too perfect a day to go poking about among old ruins and things.”

Henry D. Gregg cleared his throat and took up the explanation. “Seems the–er–Signor thinks it would be just the thing to take a touring car and drive to Tivoli, and have a bite of lunch there.”

“And come back in time to see the Colosseum by moonlight!” put in Tweetie ecstatically.

“Oh, yes!” said Mary Gowd.

Pa Gregg looked at his watch.

“Well, I’ll be running along,” he said. Then, in answer to something in Mary Gowd’s eyes: “I’m not going to Tivoli, you see. I met a man from Chicago here at the hotel. He and I are going to chin awhile this morning. And Mrs. Gregg and his wife are going on a shopping spree. Say, ma, if you need any more money speak up now, because I’m–“

Mary Gowd caught his coat sleeve.

“One moment!”

Her voice was very low. “You mean–you mean Miss Eleanora will go to Tivoli and to the Colosseum alone–with–with Signor Caldini?”

Henry Gregg smiled indulgently.

“The young folks always run round alone at home. We’ve got our own car at home in Batavia, but Tweetie’s beaus are always driving up for her in–“

Mary Gowd turned her head so that only Henry Gregg could hear what she said.

“Step aside for just one moment. I must talk to you.”

“Well, what?”

“Do as I say,” whispered Mary Gowd.

Something of her earnestness seemed to convey a meaning to Henry Gregg.

“Just wait a minute, folks,” he said to the group of three, and joined Mary Gowd, who had chosen a seat a dozen paces away. “What’s the trouble?” he asked jocularly. “Hope you’re not offended because Tweet said we didn’t need you to-day. You know young folks–“

“They must not go alone,” said Mary Gowd.

“But–“

“This is not America. This is Italy–this Caldini is an Italian.”