“The young folks always run round alone at home.  We’ve got our own car at home in Batavia, but Tweetie’s beaus are always driving up for her in—­”

Mary Gowd turned her head so that only Henry Gregg could hear what she said.

“Step aside for just one moment.  I must talk to you.”

“Well, what?”

“Do as I say,” whispered Mary Gowd.

Something of her earnestness seemed to convey a meaning to Henry Gregg.

“Just wait a minute, folks,” he said to the group of three, and joined Mary Gowd, who had chosen a seat a dozen paces away.  “What’s the trouble?” he asked jocularly.  “Hope you’re not offended because Tweet said we didn’t need you to-day.  You know young folks—­”

“They must not go alone,” said Mary Gowd.

“But—­”

“This is not America.  This is Italy—­this Caldini is an Italian.”

“Why, look here; Signor Caldini was introduced to us last night.  His folks really belong to the nobility.”

“I know; I know,” interrupted Mary Gowd.  “I tell you they cannot go alone.  Please believe me!  I have been fifteen years in Rome.  Noble or not, Caldini is an Italian.  I ask you”—­she had clasped her hands and was looking pleadingly up into his face—­“I beg of you, let me go with them.  You need not pay me to-day.  You—­”

Henry Gregg looked at her very thoughtfully and a little puzzled.  Then he glanced over at the group again, with Blue Cape looking down so eagerly into Tweetie’s exquisite face and Tweetie looking up so raptly into Blue Cape’s melting eyes and Ma Gregg standing so placidly by.  He turned again to Mary Gowd’s earnest face.

“Well, maybe you’re right.  They do seem to use chaperons in Europe—­duennas, or whatever you call ’em.  Seems a nice kind of chap, though.”

He strolled back to the waiting group.  From her seat Mary Gowd heard Mrs. Gregg’s surprised exclamation, saw Tweetie’s pout, understood Caldini’s shrug and sneer.  There followed a little burst of conversation.  Then, with a little frown which melted into a smile for Blue Cape, Tweetie went to her room for motor coat and trifles that the long day’s outing demanded.  Mrs. Gregg, still voluble, followed.

Blue Cape, with a long look at Mary Gowd, went out to confer with the porter about the motor.  Papa Gregg, hand in pockets, cigar tilted, eyes narrowed, stood irresolutely in the centre of the great, gaudy foyer.  Then, with a decisive little hunch of his shoulders, he came back to where Mary Gowd sat.

“Did you say you’ve been fifteen years in Rome?”

“Fifteen years,” answered Mary Gowd.

Henry D. Gregg took his cigar from his mouth and regarded it thoughtfully.