“No doubt.  And that is practically what we have done.  I say ‘we,’ because you say ‘you.’  But I think you will admit that, as far as personal activity is concerned, the Romans of Rome are taking as active a share in building ugly houses as any of the Italian Romans.  The destruction of the Villa Ludovisi, for instance, was forced upon the owner not by the national government but by an insane municipality, and those who have taken over the building lots are largely Roman princes of the old stock.”

The argument was unanswerable, and Orsino knew it, a fact which did not improve his temper.  It was disagreeable enough to be forced into a conversation with Del Ferice, and it was still worse to be obliged to agree with him.  Orsino frowned and said nothing, hoping that the subject would drop.  But Del Ferice had only produced an unpleasant impression in order to remove it and thereby improve the whole situation, which was one of the most difficult in which he had found himself for some time.

“I repeat,” he said, with a pleasant smile, “that it is hopeless to defend all of what is actually done in our day in Rome.  Some of your friends and many of mine are building houses which even age and ruin will never beautify.  The only defensible part of the affair is the political change which has brought about the necessity of building at all, and upon that point I think that we may agree to differ.  Do you not think so, Don Orsino?”

“By all means,” answered the young man, conscious that the proposal was both just and fitting.

“And for the rest, both your friends and mine—­for all I know, your own family and certainly I myself—­have enormous interests at stake.  We may at least agree to hope that none of us may be ruined.”

“Certainly—­though we have had nothing to do with the matter.  Neither my father nor my grandfather have entered into any such speculation.”

“It is a pity,” said Del Ferice thoughtfully.

“Why a pity?”

“On the one hand my instincts are basely commercial,” Del Ferice answered with a frank laugh.  “No matter how great a fortune may be, it may be doubled and trebled.  You must remember that I am a banker in fact if not exactly in designation, and the opportunity is excellent.  But the greater pity is that such men as you, Don Orsino, who could exercise as much influence as it might please you to use, leave it to men—­very unlike you, I fancy—­to murder the architecture of Rome and prepare the triumph of the hideous.”

Orsino did not answer the remark, although he was not altogether displeased with the idea it conveyed.  Maria Consuelo looked at him.

“Why do you stand aloof and let things go from bad to worse when you might really do good by joining in the affairs of the day?” she asked.

“I could not join in them, if I would,” answered Orsino.

“Why not?”

“Because I have not command of a hundred francs in the world, Madame.  That is the simplest and best of all reasons.”