said Caper, among the violets of Paestum, the poor flowers
of the Borghese? I protest against it, and beg to add this little
bouquet to yours, that their united perfume may cause you to remember
them.'

'I accept them for you, mother,' spoke Ida; 'and that they may not be
forgotten, I will make a sketch at once of that fountain under the ilex
trees, and Mr. Caper in classic costume, making floral offerings to
Bacchus--of violets.'

'And why not to Flora?'

'I have yet to learn that Flora has a shrine at--Monte Testaccio! where
the Signore Caper, if report speaks true, often goes and worships.'

'That shrine is abandoned hereafter: where shall my new one be?'

'In the Piazza di Spagna, No.----,' said Mrs. Buren, smiling at Caper's
mournful tone of voice. 'While the violets bloom we shall be there. Good
morning!'

The ladies continued their walk, and although, as they turned away, Ida
dropped a tiny bunch of violets, hidden among two leaves, Caper, when he
picked it up, did not return it to her, but kept it many a day as a
souvenir of his fair countrywoman.

'They are,' said Uncle Bill, slowly and solemnly, 'two of the finest
specimens of Englishwomen I ever saw, upon me word, be gad!'

'They are,' said Caper, 'two of the handsomest Americans I ever met.'

'Americans?' asked Uncle Bill, emphatically.

'Americans!' answered Caper, triumphantly.

'Shut up your paint shop, James, my son, call in the auctioneer, stick
up a bill 'TO LET.' Let us return at once to the land of our
birth. No such attractions exist in this turkey-trodden,
maccaroni-eating, picture-peddling, stone-cutting, mass-singing land of
donkeys. Let us go. Americans!'

'Yes, Americans--Bostonians,'

'Farewell, seventy-five niggers--good-by, my speculations in Lewsianny
cotton planting--depart from behind me, sugar crops on Bayou Fooshe! I
am of those who want a Mrs. Browne, a duplicate of the elderly lady who
has just departed, at any price. James, my son, this morning shalt thou
breakfast with me at Nazzari's; and if thou hast not a bully old
breakfast, it's because the dimes ain't in me--and I know they are.
Nothing short of cream de Boozy frappayed, paddy frog grass pie, fill it
of beef, and myonhays of pullits, with all kinds of saucy sons and so
forth, will do for us. We have been among angels--shall we not eat like
the elect? Forward!'

During breakfast, Caper discoursed at length with his uncle of the two
ladies they met in the villa