Then with a jerk she dropped the girl's hand and squared her shoulders
like a soldier, so that the dowdy blue suit strained more than ever at
its seams; and the line that had settled about her mouth the night
before faded slowly, as though a muscle too tightly drawn had relaxed.

In the carriages they were seated as before. The horses started up, with
the smaller cab but a dozen paces behind. Mary Gowd leaned forward. She
began to speak--her voice very low, her accent clearly English, her
brevity wonderfully American.

"Listen to me!" she said. "You must leave Rome to-night!"

"Leave Rome to-night!" echoed the Greggs as though rehearsing a duet.

"Be quiet! You must not shout like that. I say you must go away."

Mamma Gregg opened her lips and shut them, wordless for once. Henry
Gregg laid one big hand on his wife's shaking knees and eyed Mary Gowd
very quietly.

"I don't get you," he said.

Mary Gowd looked straight at him as she said what she had to say:

"There are things in Rome you cannot understand. You could not
understand unless you lived here many years. I lived here many months
before I learned to step meekly off into the gutter to allow a man to
pass on the narrow sidewalk. You must take your pretty daughter and go
away. To-night! No--let me finish. I will tell you what happened to me
fifteen years ago, and I will tell you what this Caldini has in his
mind. You will believe me and forgive me; and promise me that you will
go quietly away."

When she finished Mrs. Gregg was white-faced and luckily too frightened
to weep. Henry Gregg started up in the carriage, his fists
white-knuckled, his lean face turned toward the carriage crawling
behind.

"Sit down!" commanded Mary Gowd. She jerked his sleeve. "Sit down!"

Henry Gregg sat down slowly. Then he wet his lips slightly and smiled.

"Oh, bosh!" he said. "This--this is the twentieth century and we're
Americans, and it's broad daylight. Why, I'll lick the--"

"This is Rome," interrupted Mary Gowd quietly, "and you will do nothing
of the kind, because he would make you pay for that too, and it would be
in all the papers; and your pretty daughter would hang her head in shame
forever." She put one hand on Henry Gregg's sleeve. "You do not know!
You do not! Promise me you will go." The tears sprang suddenly to her
English blue eyes. "Promise me! Promise me!"

"Henry!" cried Mamma Gregg, very grey-faced. "Promise, Henry!"

"I promise," said Henry G