‘Oh, the surprise!’ Mrs. Copley laughed. ‘I entirely forgot it. I was afraid they might think it strange that I hadn’t answered the note—though I really didn’t get it in time—so I asked your uncle to stop at their hotel and invite them all to come out to the villa for the night. I thought that since we were planning to drive to the festa at Genazzano to-morrow, it would be nice to have them with us. I am sure they would be interested in seeing the festa.’
Marcia dropped limply into a chair and looked at her aunt. ‘Is Mr. Dessart coming too?’
‘I invited him, certainly. What’s the matter? Aren’t you pleased? I thought you liked him.’
‘Oh, yes, I do; only—I wish I’d got up earlier!’ And then she laughed. The situation was rather funny, after all. She might as well make the best of it. ‘Suppose we send over to Palestrina and invite M. Benoit for dinner,’ she suggested presently. ‘I think he is stopping there this week, and it would be nice to have him. I suspect,’ she added, ‘that he is a tiny bit interested in Eleanor.’
A note was sent by a groom, who returned with the information that he had found the gentleman sitting on a rock in a field, painting a portrait of a sheep; that he had delivered the note, and got this in return.
‘This’ was a rapid sketch on bristol-board, representing the young Frenchman in evening clothes making a bow, with his hand on his heart, to the two ladies, who received him on the steps of the loggia, while a clock in the corner pointed to eight.
Marcia looked at the sketch and laughed. ‘Here’s an original acceptance, Aunt Katherine.’
Mrs. Copley smiled appreciatively. ‘He seems to be a very original young man,’ she conceded.
‘Naturellement. He’s a prix de Rome.’
‘When Frenchmen are nice they are very nice,’ said Mrs. Copley; ‘but when they are not——’ Words failed her, and she picked up her embroidery again.