ir clock would
have nodded to the young men on the ceiling of the Sistine.

Philip had tried for a box, but all the best were taken: it was rather
a grand performance, and he had to be content with stalls. Harriet was
fretful and insular. Miss Abbott was pleasant, and insisted on praising
everything: her only regret was that she had no pretty clothes with her.

"We do all right," said Philip, amused at her unwonted vanity.

"Yes, I know; but pretty things pack as easily as ugly ones. We had no
need to come to Italy like guys."

This time he did not reply, "But we're here to rescue a baby." For
he saw a charming picture, as charming a picture as he had seen for
years--the hot red theatre; outside the theatre, towers and dark gates
and mediaeval walls; beyond the walls olive-trees in the starlight and
white winding roads and fireflies and untroubled dust; and here in the
middle of it all, Miss Abbott, wishing she had not come looking like a
guy. She had made the right remark. Most undoubtedly she had made the
right remark. This stiff suburban woman was unbending before the shrine.

"Don't you like it at all?" he asked her.

"Most awfully." And by this bald interchange they convinced each other
that Romance was here.

Harriet, meanwhile, had been coughing ominously at the drop-scene, which
presently rose on the grounds of Ravenswood, and the chorus of Scotch
retainers burst into cry. The audience accompanied with tappings and
drummings, swaying in the melody like corn in the wind. Harriet, though
she did not care for music, knew how to listen to it. She uttered an
acid "Shish!"

"Shut it," whispered her brother.

"We must make a stand from the beginning. They're talking."

"It is tiresome," murmured Miss Abbott; "but perhaps it isn't for us to
interfere."

Harriet shook her head and shished again. The people were quiet, not
because it is wrong to talk during a chorus, but because it is natural
to be civil to a visitor. For a little time she kept the whole house in
order, and could smile at her brother complacently.

Her success annoyed him. He had grasped the principle of opera in
Italy--it aims not at illusion but at entertainment--and he did not want
this great evening-party to turn into a prayer-meeting. But soon the
boxes began to fill, and Harriet's power was over. Families greeted each
other across the auditorium. People in the pit hailed their brothers and
sons in the chorus, and told them how well the