very bad case, but that she would not divorce him.

"I know," he answered, profoundly touched. "I understand."

In silent gratitude she laid her hand for a second upon his sleeve. Then
her face brightened, and she said gayly:

"But we shall not talk of _me!_ Let us see how we can keep you out of
mischief at leas' for a little while. I know very well what you will do
to-night: you will go to Salone Margherita an' sit in a box like all the
wicked Americans--"

"No, indeed, I shall not!"

"Ah, yes, you will!" she laughed. "But until dinner let me keep you from
wickedness. Come to tea jus' wiz me, not at the hotel, but at the little
apartment I have taken, where it is quiet. The music is finish', an' all
those pretty girl' are goin' away, you see. I am not selfish if I take
you from the Pincio now. You will come?"





III. Glamour

It was some fair dream that would be gone too soon, he told himself, as
they drove rapidly through the twilight streets, down from the Pincio
and up the long slope of the Quirinal. They came to a stop in the gray
courtyard of a palazzo, and ascended in a sleepy elevator to the fifth