polish an' with culture. An' yet you throw your money away--yes, you
throw it to poor Europe as if to a beggar!"

"No, no," he protested with an indulgent laugh which confessed that the
truth was really "Yes, yes."

"Your smile betray' you!" she cried triumphantly. "More than jus' bein'
guilty of that fault, I am goin' to tell you of others. You are not the
ole-time--what is it you say?--Ah, yes, the 'goody-goody.' I have
heard my great American frien', Honor-able Chanlair Pedlow, call it the
Sonday-school. Is it not? Yes, you are not the Sonday-school yo'ng men,
you an' your class!"

"No," he said, bestowing a long glance upon a stout nurse who
was sitting on a bench near the drive and attending to twins in a
perambulator. "No, we're not exactly dissenting parsons."

"Ah, no!" She shook her head at him prettily. "You are wicked! You are
up into all the mischief! Have I not hear what wild sums you risk at
your game, that poker? You are famous for it."

"Oh, we play," he admitted with a reckless laugh, "and I suppose we do
play rather high."

"High!" she echoed. "_Souzands!_ But that is not all. Ha, ha, ha,
naughty one! Have I not observe' you lookin' at these pretty creature',
the little contadina-girl, an' the poor ladies who have hire' their
carriages for two lire to drive up and down the Pincio in their bes'
dress an' be admire' by the yo'ng American while the music play'? Which
one I wonder, is it on whose wrist you would mos' like to fasten a