"Why, yes," said Smith innocently. "Nearly all Italian ladies carry one or more of those woozy-eyed pups. Good-by to your sparkler, Tom, this trip, if we ever expect to see the lights of old Broadway again."
O'Mally sighed deeply. The blow had finally fallen.
Then La Signorina rose to her feet. She took the card from Kitty's fingers, tore it into many pieces and flung them over the wall.
"We have been betrayed!" she cried, a storm in her eyes.
"Betrayed?"
O'Mally looked at Smith; Hillard stared at Merrihew; Kitty regarded La Signorina with wonder.
"Betrayed? In what manner?" asked Hillard.
"Her Highness has had no hand in this. I know. Some one with malice has done this petty thing." To La Signorina everything had gone wrong to-day. "I shall telegraph her Highness at once. I say that we have been made the victims of some practical joke."
"Joke or not, we can't stay here now," Smith declared. "All the high muckamucks in and roundabout Florence will be getting out their jewels and gowns. If we send a denial to the paper, and we really have no authority to do that, there'll be a whole raft of 'em who will not see it. And since nobody knows how many invitations have been sent out or to whom they have been sent—oh, what's the use of all this arguing? The thing's done. No matter how we figure it, we're all railroaded. Third-class to Naples and twelve days in the steerage. Whew!"
"I guess Hillard and I can help you," said Merrihew. "We'll see that you get home all right."