"Sit down!" commanded Mary Gowd. She jerked his sleeve. "Sit down!"
Henry Gregg sat down slowly. Then he wet his lips slightly and smiled.
"Oh, bosh!" he said. "This—this is the twentieth century and we're Americans, and it's broad daylight. Why, I'll lick the—"
"This is Rome," interrupted Mary Gowd quietly, "and you will do nothing of the kind, because he would make you pay for that too, and it would be in all the papers; and your pretty daughter would hang her head in shame forever." She put one hand on Henry Gregg's sleeve. "You do not know! You do not! Promise me you will go." The tears sprang suddenly to her English blue eyes. "Promise me! Promise me!"
"Henry!" cried Mamma Gregg, very grey-faced. "Promise, Henry!"
"I promise," said Henry Gregg, and he turned away.
Mary Gowd sank back in her seat and shut her eyes for a moment.
"Presto!" she said to the half-sleeping driver. Then she waved a gay hand at the carriage in the rear. "Presto!" she called, smiling. "Presto!"
At six o'clock Mary Gowd entered the little room in the Via Babbuino. She went first to the window, drew the heavy curtains. The roar of Rome was hushed to a humming. She lighted a candle that stood on the table. Its dim light emphasized the gloom. She took off the battered black velvet hat and sank into the chintz-covered English chair. Tina stood in the doorway. Mary Gowd sat up with a jerk.
"Letters, Tina?"