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Updated: May 20, 2025
Easter was just gone by. The Spences had timed their arrival in Rome so as to be able to spend a few days with certain friends, undisturbed by bell-clanging and the rush of trippers, before at length returning to England. Their hotel was in the Babuino.
Had he not refused himself to youth when youth had called? Had he not shut himself behind study doors while Spring crept in at the window? The war had come and dragged him out. Across his quiet, ordered path its red trail had stretched and to go forward it had been necessary to go through. The Spences always went through. But Nature, every inch a woman, had made him pay for scorning her.
We'll consider that settled." "Humph!" said Aunt Caroline. Like the house, she was somewhat old fashioned. Tea had been laid on the west lawn under the maples. Possibly some time in the past the Spences had been a leisured people. They had brought from the old country the tradition of afternoon tea. Many others had, no doubt, done the same but with these others the tradition had not persisted.
"I don't know. Most likely I shall continue to live with the Spences." "You wouldn't care to come here?" "Thank you; I think the other arrangement will be better." "Perhaps so. For one thing, it's quite uncertain whether we shall keep this house. It's really a good deal too large for us; an unnecessary expense.
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