Is the Camorra making trouble again?’
‘Oh, no; not the Camorra. But unless all signs fail, there is a prospect of some fairly exciting riots.’
‘Really? Here in Rome?’
‘Well, no; probably not in Rome—there are too many soldiers. More likely in the Neapolitan provinces. I am sorry,’ he added, ‘since you seem to find them so entertaining, that we can’t promise you a riot on your own door-step; but I dare say, when it comes to the point, you’ll find Naples near enough.’
‘I give you fair warning, Uncle Howard,’ she said, ‘if there are any riots in Naples, I’m going down to see them. What is the trouble? What are they rioting about?’
‘If there are any riots,’ said her uncle, ‘you, my dear young lady, will amuse yourself at Villa Vivalanti until they are over,’ and he abruptly changed the subject.
The talk drifted back to the villa again. Mrs. Copley afforded their guest a more detailed description.
‘Nineteen bedrooms aside from the servants’ quarters, and room in the stable for thirty horses!’ she finished.
‘The princes of Vivalanti must have kept up an establishment in their pre-Riviera days.’
‘Mustn’t they?’ agreed Marcia cordially. The new villa was proving an unexpectedly soothing topic. ‘We’ll keep up an establishment too,’ she added. ‘We’re going to give a house-party when the Roystons come down from Paris, and—I know what we’ll do! We’ll give a ball for my birthday—won’t we, Uncle Howard? And have everybody out from Rome, and the ilex grove all lighted with coloured lamps!’
‘Not if I have anything to say about it,’ said Mr. Copley.
‘But you won’t have,’ said Marcia.
‘The only reason that I consented to take this villa was that I thought it was far enough away to escape parties for a time. You said–’
‘I said if you got nearer Rome we’d give a party every day, while as it is I’m only planning one party for all the three months.’
‘Sybert and I won’t come to it,’ he grumbled.
‘Perhaps you and Mr. Sybert won’t be invited.’
‘I don’t know where you’d find two such charming men,’ said Mrs. Copley.
‘Rome’s full of them,’ returned Marcia imperturbably.
‘Who are the Roystons, Miss Marcia?’ Sybert inquired.
‘They are the friends I came over with last fall. You know Mr. Dessart?’
‘The artist? Yes, I know him.’
‘Well, Mrs. Royston is his aunt, and she has two daughters who–’
‘Are his cousins,’ suggested Mr. Copley.
‘Yes; to be sure, and very charming girls. They spend a great deal of time over here—at least Mrs. Royston and Eleanor do. Margaret has been in college.’
‘And Mr. Royston,’ asked Copley, ‘stays in America and attends to his business?’
‘Yes; Mrs. Royston and Eleanor go over quite often to keep him from getting lonely.’
‘Very generous of them,’ Sybert laughed.
‘They’ve spent winters in Cairo and Vienna and Paris and a lot of different places,’ pursued Marcia. ‘Eleanor,’ she added ruminatingly, ‘has been out nine seasons, and she has had a good deal of—experience.’
‘Dear, dear!’ said her uncle; ‘and you are proposing to expose all Rome–’
‘She’s very attractive,’ said Marcia, and then she glanced at Sybert and laughed. ‘If she should happen to take a fancy to you, Mr. Sybert–’
The young man rose to his feet and looked about for his hat. ‘Goodness!’ he murmured, ‘what would she do?’
‘There’s no telling.’ Marcia regarded him with a speculative light in her eyes.
‘A young woman who has been practising for nine seasons certainly ought to have her hand in,’ Copley agreed. ‘Perhaps, after all, Sybert, it is best we should not meet her.’
Sybert found his hat and paused for a moment.
‘You can’t frighten me that way, Miss Marcia,’ he said, with a shake of his head. ‘I have been out thirteen seasons myself.’
CHAPTER III
‘May I come in for tea, Cousin Marcia?’ Gerald inquired, with a note of anxiety in his voice, as they climbed the stone staircase of the Palazzo Rosicorelli. They had been spending the afternoon in the Borghese gardens, and the boy’s very damp sailor-suit bore witness to the fact that he had been indulging in the forbidden pleasure of catching goldfish in the fountain.
‘Indeed you may not,’ she returned emphatically. ‘You may go with Marietta and have some dry clothes put on before your mother sees you.’
Gerald, realizing the wisdom of this course, allowed himself to be quietly spirited off the back way, in spite of the fact that he heard the alluring sound of Sybert’s voice in the direction of the salon. Marcia went on in without waiting to take off her hat, and she met the Melvilles in the ante-room, on the point of leaving.
‘Good afternoon. Why do you go so early?’ she asked.
‘Oh, we are coming back later; we are just going home to dress. Your uncle is giving a dinner to-night—a very formal affair.’
‘Is that so?’ she laughed. ‘I have not been invited.’
‘You will be; don’t feel hurt. It’s a general invitation issued to all comers.’
Marcia found no one within but her aunt and uncle and Mr. Sybert.
‘What is this I hear about your giving a dinner to-night, Aunt Katherine?’ she asked as she settled herself in a wicker chair and stretched out her hand for a cup of tea.
‘You must ask your uncle. I have nothing to do with it,’ Mrs. Copley disclaimed. ‘He invited the guests, and he must provide the menu.’
‘What is it, Uncle Howard?’
‘Merely a little farewell dinner. I thought we ought to put on a bright face our last night, you know.’
‘One would think you were going to be led to execution at dawn.’
‘We will hope it’s nothing worse than exile,’ said Sybert.
‘Who are your guests, and when were they invited?’
‘My guests are the people who dropped in late to tea; I did not think of it early enough to make the invitation very general. The list, I believe, includes the Melvilles, Signora Androit and the Contessa Torrenieri, Sidney Carthrope the sculptor, and a certain young Frenchman, a most alluring youth, who called with him, but whose name for the moment escapes me.’
‘Adolphe
