as done then," his wife replied with
an air of equable amusement.

She added, "I rather think I did most of the visiting. I was awf'ly fond
of Lucy."

"That's different. You'll have a total stranger on your hands. . . . Are
you sure she speaks English?"

"Oh, dear yes, she speaks English--don't you remember her in Rome? She
was the littlest one. All the children speak English, Lucy wrote, except
Francisco who is 'very Italian,' which means he is a fascinating
spendthrift like the father, I suppose. . . . I imagine," said Mrs.
Blair, "that Lucy has not found life in a palace all a bed of roses."

"I remember the palace. . . . Warming pans!" said Mr. Blair grimly.

His ill-humor lasted until the first glimpse of Maria Angelina's slender
figure, and the first glance of Maria Angelina's trustfully appealing
eyes.

"Welcome to America," he said then very heartily, both his hands closing
over the small fingers. "Welcome--_very_ welcome, my dear."

And though Maria Angelina never knew it and Cousin Jane Blair never
told, that was Maria Angelina's first American triumph.

Some nine hours afterwards a stoutish gentleman in gray and a thinnish
lady in beige and a fragile looking girl in white wound their way from
the outer to the inner circle of tables next the dancing floor of the
Vandevoort.

The room was crowded with men in light serge and women in gay summer
frocks; bright lights were shining under pink shades and sprays of pink
flowers on every table were breathing a faint perfume into an air
already impregnated with women's scents and heavy with odors of rich
food. Now and then a saltish breeze stole through the draped windows on
the sound but was instantly scattered by the vigor of the hidden,
whirling fans.

Behind palms an orchestra clashed out the latest Blues and in the
cleared space couples were speeding up and down to the syncopations,
while between tables agile waiters balanced overloaded trays or whisked
silver covers off scarlet lobsters or lit mysterious little lights
below tiny bubbling caldrons.

Maria Angelina's soft lips were parted with excitement and her dark eyes
round with wondering. This, indeed, was a new world. . . .

It was gay--gayer than the Hotel Excelsior at Rome! It was a carnival of
a dinner!

Ever since morning, when the cordiality of the new-found cousins had
dissipated the first forlorn homesickness of arrival, she had been
looking on at scenes that were like a film, ceasel