g her in her typical capacity, that
I once had a little brother, though he died before I was born.

The two gentlemen were smoking; we could see nothing but the ends of
their cigars glowing in their immediate vicinity. Momma was saying that
the situation was very romantic, and Mr. Malt had assured her that it
was nothing to what we would experience in Italy. "That's where you
_get_ romance," said Mr. Malt, and his cigar end dropped like a falling
star as he removed the ash. "Italy's been romantic ever since B.C. All
through the time the rest of the world was inventing Magna Chartas and
Doomsday Books, and Parliaments, and printing presses, and steam
engines, Italy's gone right on turning out romance. Result is, a better
quality of that article to be had in Italy to-day than anywhere else.
Further result, twenty million pounds spent there annually by tourists
from all parts of the civilised world. Romance, like anything else, can
be made to pay."

"Are we likely to find the beds----" began Mrs. Malt plaintively.

"Oh dear yes, Mrs. Malt!" interrupted momma, who thought everything
entomological extremely indelicate. "Perfectly. You have only to go to
the hotels the guide-books recommend, and everything will be quite
_propre_."

"Well," said Emmeline, "they may be _propre_ in Italy, but they're not
_propre_ in Paris. We had to speak to the housemaid yesterday morning,
didn't we, mother? Don't you remember the back of my neck?"

"We all suffered!" declared Mrs. Malt.

"And I _showed_ one to her, mother, and all she would say was, '_Jamais
ici, mademoiselle, ici, jamais!_' And there it _was_ you know."

"Emmeline," said her father, "isn't it about time for you to want to go
to bed?"

"Not by about three hours. I'm going to get up a little music first. Do
you play, Mis' Wick?"

Momma said she didn't, and Miss Malt disappeared in search of other
performers. "Don't you go asking strangers to play, Emmeline," her
mother called after her. "They'll think it forward of you."

"When Emmeline leaves us," said her father, "I always have a kind of
abandoned feeling, like a top that's got to the end of its spin."

There was silence for a moment, and then the Senator said he thought he
could understand that.

"Well," continued Mr. Malt, "you've had three whole days now. I presume
you're beginning to know your way around."

"I think we may say we've made pretty good use of our time," responded
the Senator. "This morning we