The Contessa and her daughter were to be of the party that day, and the carriage stopped where they lived, near the Forum of Trajan.  They appeared almost directly, the Contessa in grey with a grey veil and Aurora dressed in a lighter shade, the thick plaits of her auburn hair tied up short below her round straw hat, on the theory that she was still a school-girl, whose skirt must not quite touch the ground, who ought not to wear a veil, and whose mind was supposed to be a sensitive blank, particularly apt to receive bad impressions rather than good ones.  In less than a year she would be dancing all night with men she had scarcely heard of before, listening to compliments of which she had never dreamt—­of course not—­and to declarations which no right-minded girl one day under eighteen could under any circumstances be thought to expect.  Such miracles as these are wrought by the eighteenth birthday.

Corbario’s eyes looked from the mother to the daughter, as he and Marcello stood on the pavement to let them get in.  The Contessa touched his outstretched hand without restraint but without cordiality, smiling just as much as was civil, and less readily than would have been friendly.  Aurora glanced at him and laughed prettily without any apparent reason, which is the privilege of very young girls, because their minds are supposed to be a blank.  Also because her skirt must not quite touch the ground, one very perfect black silk ankle was distinctly visible for a moment as she stepped into the carriage.  Note that from the eve of her eighteenth birthday till she is old enough to be really wicked no well-regulated young woman shows her ankles.  This also is one of the miracles of time.

Marcello blushed faintly as he sat down beside Aurora.  There were now five in the big carriage, so that she was between the two men; and though there was enough room Marcello felt the slight pressure of her arm against his.  His mother saw his colour change, and looked away and smiled.  The idea of marrying the two in a few years had often crossed her mind, and she was pleased whenever she saw that Marcello felt a little thrill of emotion in the girl’s presence.  As for Aurora, she looked straight before her, between the heads of the two elder women, and for a long time after they had started she seemed absorbed in watching the receding walls of the city and the long straight road that led back to it.  The Contessa and her friend talked quietly, happy to be together for a whole day.  Corbario now and then looked from one to the other, as if to assure himself that they were quite comfortable, and his still face wore an unchanging look of contented calm as his eyes turned again to the sunlit sweep of the low Campagna.  Marcello looked steadily away from Aurora, happily and yet almost painfully aware that her arm could not help pressing against his.  The horses’ hoofs beat rhythmically on the hard high road, with the steady, cheerful energy which would