regg, and he turned away.

Mary Gowd sank back in her seat and shut her eyes for a moment.

"_Presto!_" she said to the half-sleeping driver. Then she waved a gay
hand at the carriage in the rear. "_Presto!_" she called, smiling.
"_Presto!_"

* * * * *

At six o'clock Mary Gowd entered the little room in the Via Babbuino.
She went first to the window, drew the heavy curtains. The roar of Rome
was hushed to a humming. She lighted a candle that stood on the table.
Its dim light emphasized the gloom. She took off the battered black
velvet hat and sank into the chintz-covered English chair. Tina stood in
the doorway. Mary Gowd sat up with a jerk.

"Letters, Tina?"

Tina thought deeply, fumbled at the bosom of her gown and drew out a
sealed envelope grudgingly.

Mary Gowd broke the seal, glanced at the letter. Then, under Tina's
startled gaze, she held it to the flaming candle and watched it burn.

"What is it that you do?" demanded Tina.

Mary Gowd smiled.

"You have heard of America?"

"America! A thousand--a million time! My brother Luigi--"

"Naturally! This, then"--Mary Gowd deliberately gathered up the ashes
into a neat pile and held them in her hand, a crumpled heap--"this then,
Tina, is my trip to America."

X

SOPHY-AS-SHE-MIGHT-HAVE-BEEN

The key to the heart of Paris is love. He whose key-ring lacks that open
sesame never really sees the city, even though he dwell in the shadow of
the Sorbonne and comprehend the _fiacre_ French of the Paris cabman.
Some there are who craftily open the door with a skeleton key; some who
ruthlessly batter the panels; some who achieve only a wax impression,
which proves to be useless. There are many who travel no farther than
the outer gates. You will find them staring blankly at the stone walls;
and their plaint is:

"What do they find to rave about in this town?"

Sophy Gold had been eight days in Paris and she had not so much as
peeked through the key-hole. In a vague way she realised that she was
seeing Paris as a blind man sees the sun--feeling its warmth, conscious
of its white light beating on the eyeballs, but never actually beholding
its golden glory.

This was Sophy Gold's first trip to Paris, and her heart and soul and
business brain were intent on buying the shrewdest possible bill of
lingerie and infants' wear for her department at Schiff Brothers',
Chicago; but Sophy under-estimated the powers of those three