“But, Duchessa,” she broke in, “have the Prince Allegro and I nothing to do with the arranging of our own future?”

The duchess observed her in as much astonishment as though a baby of six months had broken into the conversation.  A moment or two elapsed before she said smoothly:  “Oh, the Prince is enchanted at the idea.  He danced with you at Court and finds you molto simpatica.  It is a great name, my dear, that he has to offer you——­” and then with a condescension, yet a courteousness that prevented offense:  “We shall all be willing, nay, delighted, to receive you with open arms.  Your position will be in every way as though you had been born into the nobility.”

“Thank you,” said Nina quietly, “but I don’t think I am quite used to the European marriage of arrangement.”

“Ah, but it need not be a marriage of arrangement.  If you will permit Allegro to pay his addresses to you, he will consider himself the most fortunate of men.  May I tell him?”

“Please not!” said Nina.  Quite at bay, she longed wildly for some means of escape.  To her relief, two Americans whom she knew, young Mrs. Davis and her sister, entered the shop.  Nina rose abruptly, apologizing to the duchess, and ran to them.  How long had they been in Rome?  Where were they stopping?  What was the news from New York?  They told her all they could think of.  The Tony Stuarts had a son—­they thought it the only baby that had ever been born; and as for old Mr. Stuart, he was nearly insane with joy.  Billy Rivers had lost every cent of his money; and then—­but, of course, Nina had heard about John Derby.

In her fear that some accident had happened to him, Nina’s heart seemed to miss two beats.  But Mrs. Davis merely meant his success in mining.  By the way, she had seen him in New York, as she was driving to the steamer.  He was striding up Fifth Avenue, and was “too good-looking for words.”

The princess was leaving the shop and, as Nina followed her into the carriage, her mind was full of Derby.  It was very strange—­she had had a letter the day before from Arizona, in which John had said nothing about going to New York.  Then she remembered that her father had hinted at a possibility that John might be sent to Italy later in the winter.  Her pulse quickened at the thought, but with no consciousness of sentiment deepened or changed by absence.

Arrived at the palace, she found a note from Zoya Olisco, who was coming to spend the next day with her.  Nina handed the note to the princess.  “I thought we could go out in the car and lunch somewhere.  Or is it not allowed?” Her eyes twinkled as she questioned.

“That depends,” the princess answered in the same spirit, “upon whether you are counting upon including me.  I am a very disagreeable tyrant when it comes to being left out of a party.”

The automobile in question was Nina’s.  She had wanted one, and with her “to want” meant “to get.”  Nearly every one thought it belonged to the princess, as it would not have occurred to many in Rome to suppose it was owned by a young girl.