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Updated: May 14, 2025
As they were returning to the carriages after inspecting the Baths of Caracalla, Tweetie even skipped ahead and slipped her hand for a moment into Mary Gowd's. "You're simply wonderful!" she said almost shyly. "You make things sound so real. And and I'm sorry I was so nasty to you yesterday at Tivoli." Mary Dowd looked down at the glowing little face.
Oh, why can't they talk as you do?" she wailed, her eyes full of contempt for the despised guide. "I am happy to have helped you," said Mary Gowd. "Helped! Why, there are hundreds of Americans who would give anything to have some one like you to be with them in Rome." Mary Gowd's whole body stiffened. She stared fixedly at the grateful little American school-teacher. "Some one like me "
All this, coupled with the fact that your Italian is a natural-born hater, may indicate that the life of Mary Gowd had not the lyric lilt that life is commonly reputed to have in sunny Italy. Oh, there is no formula for Mary Gowd's story. In the first place, the tale of how Mary Gowd came to be the one woman guide in Rome runs like melodrama.
"Jock looked at the cat and observed obscurely, 'It's not a sentimental beast either' while Jean asked if I would have preferred it called Sir Rabindranath Tagore!" "O, the land is fine, fine, I could buy it a' for mine, For ma gowd's as the stooks in Strathairlie." Scots Song.
O, the land is fine, fine, I could buy it a' for mine, For ma gowd's as the stooks in Strathairlie; But I fain the lad would be Wha sailed ower the saut sea When the dawn rose grey on Strathairlie." Jean rose from the piano. Jock had got out his books and had begun his lessons. Mhor and Peter were under the table playing at being cave-men. Pamela was stitching at her embroidery.
There are too many women in England already too many half-starving shabby genteel. I earn enough to live on here that is, I call it living. You couldn't. In the bad season, when there are no tourists, I live on a lire a day, including my rent." Henry Gregg stood up. "My land! Why don't you come to America?" He waved his arms. "America!" Mary Gowd's brick-red cheeks grew redder.
Then he glanced over at the group again, with Blue Cape looking down so eagerly into Tweetie's exquisite face and Tweetie looking up so raptly into Blue Cape's melting eyes and Ma Gregg standing so placidly by. He turned again to Mary Gowd's earnest face. "Well, maybe you're right. They do seem to use chaperons in Europe duennas, or whatever you call 'em. Seems a nice kind of chap, though."
He was looking down into the brilliantly glowing face of the pretty Eleanora, and the pretty Eleanora was looking up at him; and Pa and Ma Gregg were standing by, placidly pleased. A grim little line appeared about Miss Gowd's mouth. Blue Cape's black eyes saw it, even as he bent low over Mary Gowd's hand at the words of introduction.
She glared at the silent Mary Gowd. There was a strange little glint in Mary Gowd's eyes, and the grim line was there about the mouth again, grimmer than it had been in the morning. "You will excuse me?" she said. "I am very tired. I will say good night." "And I," announced Caldini. Mary Gowd turned swiftly to look at him. "You!" said Tweetie Gregg.
And little Tweetie Gregg had not lowered her voice or her laugh when she spoke that afternoon of Mary Gowd's absurd English fringe and her red wrists above her too-short gloves. "How much?" asked Mary Gowd. He named a figure. She laughed. "More much more!" He named another figure; then another. "You will put it down on paper," said Mary Gowd, "and sign your name to-morrow."
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