“Then you can’t go,” cried irrepressible Patty, “for you can’t leave me alone, either!”
But Patty’s manners were really above reproach, and it was a most correctly behaved American girl who entered Mr. Leland’s drawing-room. That gentleman proved to be a man of about Mr. Fairfield’s age, and he was delighted to welcome guests from his native land.
“To humour my health,” he said, “I have lived in Rome for many years, but my heart is still true to the old flag, and I wish I might go back and live beneath its red, white, and blue.”
“But wouldn’t you hate to give up all this splendour?” asked Patty, glancing about at the unusually fine apartment.
“Yes and no,” replied Mr. Leland, smiling. “I’ve collected my household gods with great care, and they wouldn’t bear transplanting to America, but still my native heath calls loudly to me at times.”
“Why couldn’t you take all these beautiful things home with you?” asked Nan.
“I could; but they wouldn’t feel at home in an American house. Imagine these rooms transported bodily to New York. They would appear bizarre and over-ornate, while here they are neither.”
“That’s one reason I love Rome,” said Patty, enthusiastically; “it’s all red velvet, and carved gold frames, and marble filigree-work, and heavy tapestries, and mosaic floors,—oh, I adore it!”
“You’ve a barbaric love of colour,” said Mr. Leland, smiling, “unusual in a young American girl. But you must remember that all this colour and gilding is only right under the blue and gold of the Italian sky. In New York it would be a jarring note.”