They lingered over their pleasant luncheon, and then strolled out to the beautiful garden at the back of the hotel.
Here there were no flowers, but palms and strange tropical plants in great variety. So dense was the foliage in some places that Patty called it a jungle, and appropriating a wicker chair, declared her intention of remaining there to read for a while.
“Do as you choose until four,” said her father, “and then your Roman chariot will await you.”
The Roman chariot proved to be a low, comfortable open carriage, that Mr. Fairfield had engaged to be at their disposal during their whole stay in Rome.
As they started off on their first drive round the city, Patty asked where they were going.
“Not to many places to-day,” said her father. “Just a drive to the Pincio, and to get a bird’s-eye view of the city. But keep your eyes open, for this drive will always remain in your memory.”
And it did. Patty never forgot that first afternoon in Rome. She almost held her breath as they drove rather slowly along the streets, and her ideas formed and changed and fled so swiftly that she scarcely could be said to have any.
Her conversation was limited to gasps of surprise and delight, exclamations of awe and wonder, and little squeals of glee and merriment.
At last she recognised one thing at least, and cried out, “Oh, isn’t that Trajan’s Column? It’s just like the Column Vendôme.”