e Bishop came to dine with us that night, and after dinner, when I had
gone to the window to look out over the city for the three lights on the
Loggia of the Vatican, he and my father talked together for a long time
in a low tone. They were still talking when I left them to go to bed.

TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER

At breakfast next morning my father told me that something unexpected
had occurred to require that we should return home immediately, and
therefore he had sent over to Cook's for seats by the noon express.

I was deeply disappointed, but I knew my father too well to demur, so I
slipped away to my room and sent a letter to Martin, explaining the
change in our plans and saying good-bye to him.

When we reached the station, however, I found Martin waiting on the
platform in front of the compartment that was labelled with our name.

I thought my father was even more brusque with him than before, and the
Bishop, who was to travel with us, was curt almost to rudeness. But
Martin did not seem to mind that this morning, for his lower lip had the
stiff setting which I had seen in it when he was a boy, and after I
stepped into the carriage he stepped in after me, leaving the two men on
the platform.

"Shall you be long away?" I asked.

"Too long unfortunately. Six months, nine--perhaps twelve, worse luck!
Wish I hadn't to go at all," he answered.

I was surprised and asked why, whereupon he stammered some excuse, and
then said abruptly:

"I suppose you'll not be married for some time at all events?"

I told him I did not know, everything depending on my father.

"Anyhow, you'll see and hear for yourself when you reach home, and then
perhaps you'll. . . ."

I answered that I should have to do what my father desired, being a
girl, and therefore. . . .

"But surely a girl has some rights of her own," he said, and then I was
silent and a little ashamed, having a sense of female helplessness
which I had never felt before and could find no words for.

"I'll write to your father," he said, and just at that moment the bell
rang, and my father came into the compartment, saying:

"Now then, young man, if you don't want to be taken up to the North Pole
instead of going down to the South one. . . ."

"That's all right, sir. Don't you trouble about _me_. I can take care of
myself," said Martin.

Something in his tone must have said more than his words to my father
and the Bishop, for I saw that they looked at ea