It was a Saturday afternoon, the time at which the beautiful marbles of the Villa Borghese are thrown open to the public.

Mary had told him that Roderick had promised to take her to see them, with his mother, and he joined the party in the splendid Casino.

The warm weather had left so few strangers in Rome that they had the place almost to themselves.

Mrs.
Hudson had confessed to an invincible fear of treading, even with the help of her son's arm, the polished marble floors, and was sitting patiently on a stool, with folded hands, looking shyly, here and there, at the undraped paganism around her.

Roderick had sauntered off alone, with an irritated brow, which seemed to betray the conflict between the instinct of observation and the perplexities of circumstance.
Miss Garland was wandering in another direction, and though she was consulting her catalogue, Rowland fancied it was from habit; she too was preoccupied.