‘The Committee,’ said Melville, ‘is to raise money for food, and to assist the government as far as possible in quieting the people and suppressing the agitators.’
‘Ah!’ breathed Sybert.
‘And,’ he added, with his eye on the young man, ‘I have the honour of informing you that you were made chairman.’
‘Oh, the devil!’
‘This is not an official notification,’ he pursued blandly; ‘but I thought you’d like to hear the news.’
‘Who’s at the bottom of this? Why, in heaven’s name, didn’t you stop them?’
‘I couldn’t very well; I was chairman of the meeting.’
Sybert’s usual easy nonchalance had vanished. He rose to his feet and took one or two turns about the room.
‘I don’t see why I should be shoved into it—I wish some of these officious fools would go back home, where they belong. I won’t serve on any such committee; I’ll be hanged if I will! I’ll resign.’
‘Nonsense, Sybert; you can’t do that. It would be too marked. People would think you had some reason for not wanting to serve. It was very natural that your name should have occurred for the position; you have lived in Rome longer than most of us, and are supposed to understand the conditions and to be interested in good government.’