“And discovering the most beautiful woman in the world is his daily habit,” was my answer; and we bade each other good night.
When Betsey and I were going home she gave me an account of her talk with Mrs. Rantone. The young woman's father had been a successful Minnesota grocer. The family came to Italy on a Cook's tour. The young man fell in love with the grocer's daughter, and they met him everywhere they went. He followed them to Minnesota, and the two were married there. Mrs. Rantone had said that he was a fine man and an excellent doctor, but that his friends would have nothing to do with her because she was the daughter of a tradesman of moderate means. They had supposed that every American who traveled abroad was rich, as indeed such travelers ought to be. After living nearly eight years in Rome she had only three Italian friends. She naturally felt that she was a dead weight on the shoulders of her husband; that she could contribute nothing to his success and she was most unhappy.
“Are your parents still living in Minnesota?” Betsey asked.
“They're all alone in the old home,” said the poor expatriate.
“They must miss you terribly.”
“Well, why did they bring me here?” was her pathetic answer.
I could see that Betsey was recovering from the fascinations of the marriage market.
“The 'devil-op-ments' of this night should have some effect on the price of Romeos,” I remarked.
“And the insanity of Juliets,” said Betsey. “I'm going to spring this on Gwen and her mother. But they won't believe it.”
When we arrived at our hotel its porter gave me a note from Norris which said: