And she had them—not that the aigret incident is important; but it may serve to place the Greggs in their respective niches.
At eleven o'clock Friday morning Mary Gowd called at the Gregg's hotel, according to appointment. In far-away Batavia, Illinois, Mrs. Gregg had heard of Mary Gowd. And Mary Gowd, with her knowledge of everything Roman—from the Forum to the best place at which to buy pearls—was to be the staff on which the Greggs were to lean.
"My husband," said Mrs. Gregg; "my daughter Twee—er—Eleanora. We've heard such wonderful things of you from my dear friend Mrs. Melville Peters, of Batavia."
"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Mary Gowd. "A most charming person, Mrs. Peters."
"After she came home from Europe she read the most wonderful paper on Rome before the Women's West End Culture Club, of Batavia. We're affiliated with the National Federation of Women's Clubs, as you probably know; and—"
"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.