"A villa!" exclaimed Kitty rapturously. So many villas had she seen, guarded by Lombardy poplars or cypresses, that her mind hungered to live in one, if never so shortly.
"And the villa of a princess!" sighed O'Mally. "Fudge! I'm a patriot, all right, but may I be hanged if I shouldn't like to meet a princess, the real article, just once. What do you say, Smith?"
"Sure! It would be something to brag about. 'When I was in Florence my friend, the Princess di Whadeyuhcallit, said to me,' and so forth. Sounds good. But it's an idle dream, Tom, an idle dream."
"Will you permit me to read the letter?" asked Worth.
La Signorina consented. Worth had an idea; it was as yet nebulous; still, it was a shrewd idea, and needed only a small space to stand. The moment he saw the letter the nebulous idea became opaque. The page was neatly typewritten in Italian, and only the signature was in ink. It was a small, slanting, aristocratic signature.
"Do you read Italian?" she asked with pardonable malice.
"Very little, and nothing on this page." Worth felt embarrassed under her glance. Still he continued to stare at the letter. The crest on the paper, the postmark on the envelope, convinced him of its authenticity. The date was quite recent, and did not correspond with their unhappy sojourn in the Imperial City.
"The question is, shall we accept this offer?" She refolded the letter. "This was the plan I had in mind when we went to Monte Carlo, and a much better plan, too."
"Of course, we shall accept it," said Worth, confident that the mystery was still there, but that for the present he had been fooled.
"But what's the matter with your playing the princess to the neighbors?" suggested O'Mally, his eyes laughing. "I'll be the concierge, Smith the steward, and Kitty your maid."