s silent. He was too much afraid to risk his newly acquired
reputation by the utterance of even a word.

"How do you like Rome?" asked his Lordship, abruptly.

"I can scarcely say; I 've seen very little of it. I know nobody; and,
on the whole, I find time hang heavily enough on me."

"But you _must_ know people, Cutbill; you must go out. The place has its
amusing side; it's not like what we have at home. There's another tone,
another style; there is less concentration, so to say, but there 's more
'finesse.'"

Cutbill nodded, as though he followed and assented to this.

"Where the priest enters, as such a considerable element of society,
there is always a keener study of character than elsewhere. In other
places you ask, What a man does? here you inquire, Why he does it?"

Cutbill nodded again.

"The women, too, catch up the light delicate touch which the churchmen
are such adepts in; and conversation is generally neater than elsewhere.
In a fortnight or ten days hence, you 'll see this all yourself. How are
you for Italian? Do you speak it well?"

"Not a word, my Lord."

"Never mind. French will do perfectly. I declare I think we all owe a
debt of gratitude to the First Empire for having given us a language
common to all Europe. Neither cooking nor good manners could go on
without it, and apropos of cooking, when will you dine? They are good
enough to say here that my cook is the best in Rome. When will you let
me have your verdict on him?"

Cutbill felt all the awkwardness that is commonly experienced when a man
is asked to be his own inviter.

"To-day," continued Lord Culduff, "we dine at the Duc de Rignano's; we
have promised Lady Augusta for Friday; but Saturday, I believe Saturday
is free. Shall we say Saturday, Cutbill--eight for half-past? Now, don't
fail us. We shall have a few people in the evening, so make no other
engagement. By-by."

Cutbill muttered out his acceptance, and retired, half delighted with
his success, and half distrustful as to whether he had done what he
had come to do, or whether, in not approaching the subject, he had
not earned a stronger claim to the possession of that "tact" which his
Lordship had so much admired in him.

"I'm sure he's an old fox; but he's wonderfully agreeable," muttered he,
as he descended the stairs. It was only as he turned into the Piazzo di
Spagna, and saw L'Estrange standing looking in at a print-shop, that he
remembered how he had left the curat