“We couldn’t leave out Rome,” he said, “on account of Mis’ Malt’s mother—­she made such a point of our seeing the prison of Saint Paul.  In her last letter she was looking forward very anxiously to our safe return to get an account of it.  She’s a leader in our experience meetings, and I couldn’t somehow make up my mind to face her without it.”

“Poppa,” remarked Emmeline, “is not so foolish as he looks.”

“We were just wondering,” exclaimed momma, “who that table was laid for.  But we never thought of you.  Isn’t it strange?”

We agreed that it was little short of marvellous.

The tall waiter strolled up for the commands of the Malt party.  His demeanour showed that he resented the Malts, who were, nevertheless, innocent respectable people.  As Emmeline ordered “cafe au lait pour tous" he scowled and made curious contortions with his lower jaw.  “Anything else you want?” he inquired, with obvious annoyance.

“Yes,” said Miss Callis.  He further expressed his contempt by twisting his moustache, and waited in silent disdain.

“I want,” said Miss Callis sweetly, leaning forward with her chin artlessly poised in her hand, “to know if you are paid to make faces at the guests of this hotel.”

There was laughter, above which Emmeline’s crow rose loud and clear, and as the waiter hastened away, suddenly transformed into a sycophant, poppa remarked, “I see you’ve got those hotel tickets, too.  Let me give you a little pointer.  Say nothing about it until next day.  They are like that sometimes.  In being deprived of the opportunity of swindling us, they feel that they’ve been done themselves.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Malt, “we never reveal it for twenty-four hours.  That fellow must have smelled ’em on us.  Now, how were you proposing to spend the day?”

“We’re going to the Forum,” remarked Emmeline.  “Do come with us, Mr. Wick.  We should love to have you.”

“We mustn’t forget the Count,” said momma to the Senator.

[Illustration:  “Are you paid to make faces?”]

“What Count?” Emmeline inquired.  “Did you ever, momma!  Mis’ Wick knows a count.  She’s been smarter than we have, hasn’t she?  Introduce him to us, Mis’ Wick.”

“Emmeline,” said her mother severely, “you are as personal as ever you can be.  I don’t know whatever Mis’ Wick will think of you.”

“She’s merely full of intelligent curiosity, Mis’ Malt,” said Mr. Malt, who seemed to be in the last stage of infatuated parent.  “I know you’ll excuse her,” he added to momma, who said with rather frigid emphasis, “Oh yes, we’ll excuse her.”  But the hint was lost and Emmeline remained.  Poppa looked in his memorandum book and found that the Count was not to arrive until 3 P.M.  There was, therefore, no reason why we should not accompany the Malts to the Forum, and it was arranged.