travelling, especially for Tweetie.
Funny, I always thought the fruit in Italy was regular hothouse
stuff--thought the streets would just be lined with trees all hung with
big, luscious oranges. But, Lord! Here we are at the best hotel in Rome,
and the fruit is worse than the stuff the pushcart men at home feed to
their families--little wizened bananas and oranges. Still, it's grand
here in Rome for Tweetie. I can't stay long--just ran away from business
to bring 'em over; but I'd like Tweetie to stay in Italy until she
learns the lingo. Sings, too--Tweetie does; and she and Ma think they'll
have her voice cultivated over here. They'll stay here quite a while, I
guess."

"Then you will not be here with them?" asked Mary Gowd.

"Me? No."

They sat silent for a moment.

"I suppose you're crazy about Rome," said Henry Gregg again. "There's a
lot of culture here, and history, and all that; and--"

"I hate Rome!" said Mary Gowd.

Henry Gregg stared at her in bewilderment.

"Then why in Sam Hill don't you go back to England?"

"I'm thirty-seven years old. That's one reason why. And I look older.
Oh, yes, I do. Thanks just the same. 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.

"America!" she echoed. "When I see American tourists here throwing
pennies in the Fountain of Trevi, so that they'll come back to Rome, I
want to scream. By the time I save enough money to go to America I'll be
an old woman and it will be too late. And if I did contrive to scrape
together enough for my passage over I couldn't go to the United States
in these clothes. I've seen thousands of American women here. If they
look like that when they're just travelling about, what do they wear at
home!"

"Clothes?" inquired Henry Gregg, mystified. "What's wrong with your
clothes?"

"Everything! I've seen them look at my suit, which hunches in the back
and strains across the front, and is shiny at the seams. And my gloves!
And my hat! Well, even though I am English I know how frightful my hat
is."

"You're a smart woman," said Henry D. Gregg.

"Not smart enough," retorted Mary Gowd, "or I shouldn't be here.