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Edith and Albert were both struck by Mae's dramatic force, and they talked of her as they drove to the Vatican. "I wish I understood her better," said Edith. "I cannot feel as if travel were doing her good. She is changing so; she was always odd, but then she was always happy. Now she has her moods, and there is a look in her eye I am afraid of. It is almost savage.
"Mae's right," said Eric, a trifle grandly, "only, to change the figure of speech for one better fitted for the occasion, they may satiate, though they never starve you. But they are wonderfully fine, sometimes. O, bother, I never can quote, but there is something about 'I will go back to the great sweet mother." "Or this," suggested Mae,
You would think the beauty in Rome would delight her nature, for she craves beauty and poetry in everything. I don't believe the theatre is good for her. Albert, suppose we give up our tickets for Thursday night." "But you want particularly to see that play, Edith." "I can easily give it up for Mae's sake. It would be cruel to go without her, and I think excitement is bad for her."
She dropped smiles from under her long black lashes and from the corners of the rare, sweet mouth over the heads of the idlers to Mae, who looked up to catch them. There was a resting, almost saving influence, Mae's excited soul believed, in the strange face; and her eyes sought it constantly.
He saw her, and frustrated the attempt by catching it and emptying the contents out upon the floor. The little white balls rolled off to the corners and the little hand fell slowly by Mae's side. "Why not go down to the Corso, you and I, and see the beginning of the fun?" suggested Norman.
Bah no!" and she shook her irreverent little fist right down at the Eternal City. At this moment, a small beggar, who had been pleading unnoticed at her side, was lifted from his feet by a powerful hand, and a shower of soft Italian imprecations fell on Mae's ear. She sprang up quickly, "No, no," she cried in Italian, "how dare you hurt a harmless boy?"
Add to the charms of his physique, the jauntiest, most bewitching of uniforms, the clinking spurs, the shining buttons, the jacket following every line of his figure, and no wonder maidens' hearts seek him out always and young pulses beat quicker at his approach. Mae's admiration was simply rapturous.
Luella Stultz's father, who is old-fashioned, it was said, had give Luella a good licking for smoking cigarettes, and old Jesse Himebaugh had threatened his daughter Gussie with the reform school if she didn't stop trying to get away from it all. Even Beryl Mae's aunt put her foot down.
Think what a chance for studying them one has here. Yes, Edith is right work or study, and a general shutting up of the fancy is what this mind needs." "I disagree with you entirely," said Norman with energy. "She needs play, relaxation, freedom." Then he was sorry he had said it; Mae's eyes sparkled so. "She needs," said Eric, pushing back his chair, "to be married. She is in love.
Norman spoke with so much reverence for Mae's greatest idol that her heart warmed and she smiled approval, though for argument's sake she remained on the other side. "Isn't a translation more like an engraver's art, and aren't fine engravings to be sought and admired even when we know the great original in its glory of color? Then all writing is only translation, not copying.
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