His lady tapped him playfully with her parasol, saying:  “O, you flatterer!  But I wish I could get a chance to speak to this Senorita.  I would ask her if she had ever been in America.”

“I presume not,” rejoined Mr. Fitzgerald.  “They say an Italian musician heard her in Andalusia, and was so much charmed with her voice that he adopted her and educated her for the stage; and he named her Campaneo, because there is such a bell-like echo in her voice sometimes.  Do you think, Mrs. Delano, that it would do your daughter any serious injury to go with us this evening?  We have a spare ticket; and we would take excellent care of her.  If she found herself fatigued, I would attend upon her home any time she chose to leave.”

“It would be too exciting for her nerves,” was Mrs. Delano’s laconic answer.

“The fact is,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, “Mr. Green has told us so much about her, that we are extremely anxious to be introduced to her.  He says she hasn’t half seen Rome, and he wishes she could join our party.  I wish we could persuade you to leave her with us.  I can assure you Mr. Fitzgerald is a most agreeable and gallant protector to ladies.  And then it is such a pity, when she is so musical, that she should go without hearing this new prima donna.”

“Thank you,” rejoined Mrs. Delano; “but we have become so much attached to each other’s society, that I don’t think either of us could be happy separated.  Since she cannot hear this musical wonder, I shall not increase her regrets by repeating your enthusiastic account of what she has missed.”

“If you had been present at her debut, you wouldn’t wonder at my enthusiasm,” replied the little lady.  “Mr. Fitzgerald is getting over the fever a little now, and undertakes to criticise.  He says she overacted her part; that she ‘tore a passion to tatters,’ and all that.  But I never saw him so excited as he was then.  I think she noticed it; for she fixed her glorious dark eyes directly upon our box while she was singing several of her most effective passages.”

“My dear,” interrupted her husband, “you are so opera-mad, that you are forgetting the object of your call.”

“True,” replied she.  “We wanted to inquire whether you were certainly going so soon, and whether any one had engaged these rooms.  We took a great fancy to them.  What a desirable situation!  So sunny!  Such a fine view of Monte Pincio and the Pope’s gardens!”

“They were not engaged last evening,” answered Mrs. Delano.

“Then you will secure them immediately, won’t you, dear?” said the lady, appealing to her spouse.

With wishes that the voyage might prove safe and pleasant, they departed.  Mrs. Delano lingered a moment at the window, looking out upon St. Peter’s and the Etruscan Hills beyond, thinking the while how strangely the skeins of human destiny sometimes become entangled with each other.  Yet she was unconscious of half the entanglement.