“SHE’S coming!” announced Patty, as the family sat at luncheon some days later.

“Who’s coming?” asked Nan, looking up from her own letters. They were all reading their mail, which usually arrived about midday.

“Why, Flo Carrington, and her governess, whom she always calls ‘Snippy.’ I don’t know What the lady’s real name is.”

“Good!” said Mr. Fairfield. “I’ll be glad for you to have a young companion, and Madame Snippy can probably look after you both.”

“Or Flo and I can look after her,” observed Patty. “I’ve never met the lady, but I think she goes around with her nose in a book. I’ve always heard of her widespread knowledge of all sorts.”

“That will be a good thing for you,” said her father. “You’re not overburdened with booklore, and though this is a pleasure trip for you, I hope you’ll acquire some information that will stay by you.”

“There’s one thing sure,” said Patty; “as soon as I get home, I’m going to take up a course of Roman history. It never seemed interesting to me before, but now I know I shall like it.”

“I’m with you,” said Nan. “We’ll be a class all by ourselves, and read every morning, after we’re back in New York.”

“And then, you see, Father,” went on Patty, “I can remember all these things I’m seeing now, and, before you know it, I’ll be a great scholar.”

“I’m not alarmed at the idea of your becoming a blue-stocking. Indeed, I doubt if your interest remains after you’ve left these actual scenes.”

“Oh, yes, it will! I want to study up all about the early Christian martyrs and the cruel emperors. I’m sure it will be most interesting. You see, Flo knows it all. She has all history at her tongue’s end. And she knows all about the great works of art and everything.”

“Can she recite the names of the twelve ‘world-pictures’?” asked Nan, smiling.

“Oh, she doesn’t know it that way! No ‘Half Hours with the Best Artists,’ for hers! She really knows, and she’s so unostentatious about it.”

“Then she’ll be a good chum for you. Are they coming here? And when?”

“Yes, Father. They’ve engaged rooms here, on the same floor as ours, and they’ll arrive next week. Oh, I’m so glad. I can go around a lot with them, and that will leave you and Nan to flock by yourselves. Won’t you be lonesome?”

“If we are, we’ll tag after you,” said Nan. “Patty, I think that I’ll introduce ourselves to those people over there. They’re the Van Winkles from Philadelphia, and I met Mrs. Van Winkle some years ago, though she may not remember me. But I think she does, for she has smiled pleasantly two or three times.”

“All right, Nan. I’ll go with you. Let’s go right after luncheon, if they stop in the winter-garden, as they probably will. Daddy can make himself invisible behind a newspaper until we call him into the game.”

So, as they rose from the table and passed through the winter-garden, which was also a favourite lounging-place at all seasons of the year, they found the Van Winkles had paused there, and were having their coffee at a small table.

Nan soon discovered that Mrs. Van Winkle did indeed remember her, and that they were all glad to become better acquainted. Mr. Fairfield was summoned to join the group, and a pleasant hour followed. The Van Winkle family consisted of the father and mother, also a son and daughter. Patty liked the young people, and was much amused to learn that the young man, whom his sister called Lank, was really named Lancaster. The girl’s name was Violet, and she explained that she chose it herself because it went so well with Van Winkle.

“I really had no name until I was about ten,” she said. “They always called me Birdie or Tottie, or some foolish pet name. But I liked Violet, so I just took it.”

“It’s a pretty name,” said Patty, with amiable intent, “and Lancaster is a pretty name, too.”

“Yes,” said Violet, “but we call him Lank, because he’s so fat and stuffy.”

He was a stout young man, and of a very good-natured countenance. He seemed to admire Patty, and soon they all fell into easy conversation.

“Have you been here long?” asked Patty.

“Nearly a month,” said Violet. “We were thinking of going on next week, but now that we’ve met you I’d like to stay longer.”

“I hope you will,” said Patty, cordially. “I’ve a friend coming in a few days, and I know we could all have a good time together. I love a lot of people, don’t you?”

“I do, if they pull together,” said Lank. “But if you start out sight-seeing with a bunch of people, they never all want to go to the same place at the same time.”

“I suppose that’s so,” said Patty, “but I’ve only my father and mother in my party at present, and we go together, of course. But I’ve not seen much yet. We’ve only been here a few days, and I’ve spent most of the time in the Coliseum and Roman Forum. I do love them so, and I go there expecting to study out the ruins and columns, and then I forget all about studying, and just wander about, thinking of the old Romans who used to be there.”

“That’s what I do!” exclaimed Lank. “I’m mad about the Forum, and I just shuffle around it with my tongue out, sort of lapping it up.”

“He does!” said Violet, laughing. “You ought to see him. He looks like an idiot.”

“I’d rather look like an idiot than a tourist,” said Lancaster, a little resentfully.

“Don’t worry,” said Patty. “I’m sure you don’t look the least like a tourist. I know you don’t keep one forefinger stuck into a Baedeker, and the other pointing.”

“No, I don’t. But,” and the boy’s eyes twinkled, “I carry a pack of postcards instead of a Baedeker!”

“Good for you!” cried Patty. “I love postcards too.”

“They’re so useful,” said Violet, “to direct your cabman where to go. The cabmen never talk English, but if you show a postcard, they take you right to the place. Go out with us to-morrow, won’t you, and let’s visit the Forum together?”

“Indeed I will,” said Patty, “I’d love to. But I suppose I must start in on the churches pretty soon. I’ll admire them, I expect, but I know they won’t take hold of me as the ruins do.”

“So the ruins have caught you, have they?” said a deep voice behind Patty’s chair, and turning quickly, she saw Peter Homer, smiling down at her.

“Mr. Homer!” she cried, delightedly, as she jumped up to greet him.

“I told you I’d appear sooner or later,” he said, smiling at her surprise.

“And I’m glad you came as soon as you did!” she replied merrily, and then she introduced him to the Van Winkles, and Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield added their welcome.

“I’m just here on one of my wonder-wanders,” said Mr. Homer, by way of explaining his sudden appearance. “Every few years I run down to Rome, and wander about, wondering. It’s a most satisfying occupation, and I never tire of it.”

“That’s a good expression,” said Patty, thoughtfully. “I believe I’d rather wander around and wonder, than to know it all.”

“It’s a whole lot easier,” said Lank Van Winkle. “Lets you out of a lot of study.”

“And gives you equally good results,” said Mr. Homer. “A short cut and a merry one, is my creed, to knowledge or across a street, or wherever possible.”

“You don’t seem to pursue that plan in your twenty-volume book,” said Patty, smiling.

“Oh, my book? That’s intended for other people, so I can’t consult my own inclinations in the matter. But when I’m away on my wanderings and wonderings, I try to forget those twenty volumes, and pretend I’m entirely carefree.”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Van Winkle, approvingly; “when you take a vacation, take it thoroughly. That’s what I’m doing. I’ve forgotten that I have a business office in the United States, and I’ve become, temporarily, a Roman citizen. Are you staying at this hotel, Mr. Homer?”

“No; my fate decrees an humbler home. But I’m comfortably housed only a few blocks away, and I shall hope to see you all again. Now, I must pursue my wanderings, as I have an engagement shortly. By the way, Miss Fairfield, did you know your friend Floyd Austin is on his way here?”

“Really?” said Patty; “how delightful. We can have a Roman reunion, for Miss Carrington is coming too.”

“Yes, I know it. And Caddy Oram is with Austin. We must have a meeting of the clan soon.”

“We will,” said Patty; “I’ll invite you all to tea as soon as Flo arrives, and we’ll have a lovely time.”

“Don’t you always have a lovely time?” asked Peter Homer, as he said good-by to Patty.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied. “And in Rome, who could help it?”

“No one with eyes,” he said; “and which has pleased you more, so far, the glamour or the ruins?”

Patty thought a moment.

“I can’t distinguish them,” she said, at last. “They’re so mixed up with each other, and both so wonderful.”

Mr. Homer smiled. “That’s as it should be,” he said. “But if I may, I’d like to wonder at little with you. What are you doing to-morrow morning?”

“Going to the Forum with the two Van Winkles,” answered Patty. “Won’t you go with us?”

“I’ll be glad to. Suppose I meet you here at ten o’clock.”

“Do. That will be fine. I’ve only just met the Van Winkles, but I like them already.”

“Yes, they’re attractive people,” said Mr. Homer, a little absently, and then he went away.

Although Peter Homer was only about twenty-five, and the Van Winkles were near Patty’s age, he seemed much older than the other three. Patty realised this, and attributed it to his really serious and scholarly nature, which he hid behind his pretence of taking everything lightly. She liked the man very much, for he was most interesting and amusing, but he sometimes had a preoccupied air which made Patty feel young and ignorant.

“Well, he can go with us to-morrow,” she thought, “and if he thinks we’re not wise enough for him, he needn’t go again.”

It was the evening they were to dine at Mr. Leland’s, and Patty looked forward with pleasure to a visit to a real Roman home.

“Of course,” she said to Nan, “I don’t mean ancient Roman. I’ve learned better than to look for couches instead of dining chairs; but I think it will be fun to see how an American lives in Rome.”

So Patty ran away to her room to dress for the dinner party.

She chose a white chiffon, with a round, low-cut neck, and a skirt that billowed into soft frills, and to it she added a beautiful Roman sash that she had bought that very day.

She was peacocking up and down in front of the long mirror, when Nan came in.

“I suppose I’m too grown up to wear a Roman sash,” said Patty, looking over her shoulder at the soft silk ends, with their knotted fringe; “but the colours are so lovely, and it seems appropriate.”

“By all means wear it, if you like,” said Nan; “it’s a beautiful one; and anyway, I don’t suppose Mr. Leland will know a sash from a redingote.”

Patty laughed at this, and concluded to wear her sash.

“You’ll be wasted on him, then,” she added, “for you do look bewitching in that mauve tulle.”

Nan did look lovely in her pretty evening gown, and Mr. Fairfield had reason to feel proud of the two distinguished-looking ladies he escorted downstairs.

“Don’t bother with that ridiculous elevator,” said Patty, as she led the way to the staircase. “I think its rheumatism is bad to-day. It grunts fearfully, and limps like everything.”

“It never seems well on Mondays,” said Nan, sympathetically. “I think it’s overworked, poor thing.”

“Overworked!” put in Mr. Fairfield; “it makes about three round trips each day.”

“I like better to walk down, anyway,” said Patty. “These staircases are so red velvety, and white marble-y, and gold-banister-y.” And with a hop, skip, and jump, she landed on the lower hall floor.

“Behave yourself, Patty,” admonished Nan. “Don’t jump around like an infant, even if you are wearing a little girl’s sash.”

“I’ve learned,” said Patty, with an air of great wisdom, “that an American young woman in Rome may do anything she chooses, and she is excused just because she’s Murrican.”

“Don’t you believe it,” said her father. “You behave yourself properly, or you can’t go dining out with your elders again.”

“Then you can’t go,” cried irrepressible Patty, “for you can’t leave me alone, either!”

But Patty’s manners were really above reproach, and it was a most correctly behaved American girl who entered Mr. Leland’s drawing-room. That gentleman proved to be a man of about Mr. Fairfield’s age, and he was delighted to welcome guests from his native land.

“To humour my health,” he said, “I have lived in Rome for many years, but my heart is still true to the old flag, and I wish I might go back and live beneath its red, white, and blue.”

“But wouldn’t you hate to give up all this splendour?” asked Patty, glancing about at the unusually fine apartment.

“Yes and no,” replied Mr. Leland, smiling. “I’ve collected my household gods with great care, and they wouldn’t bear transplanting to America, but still my native heath calls loudly to me at times.”

“Why couldn’t you take all these beautiful things home with you?” asked Nan.

“I could; but they wouldn’t feel at home in an American house. Imagine these rooms transported bodily to New York. They would appear bizarre and over-ornate, while here they are neither.”

“That’s one reason I love Rome,” said Patty, enthusiastically; “it’s all red velvet, and carved gold frames, and marble filigree-work, and heavy tapestries, and mosaic floors,—oh, I adore it!”

“You’ve a barbaric love of colour,” said Mr. Leland, smiling, “unusual in a young American girl. But you must remember that all this colour and gilding is only right under the blue and gold of the Italian sky. In New York it would be a jarring note.”

Patty sighed unconsciously, for she began to realise there was a great deal to know, of which she was entirely ignorant.

“Don’t take it too seriously, child,” said Mr. Leland, reading her thought. “Remember I’ve spent twenty years learning these things, and you’ve not even begun yet. I’m sure your natural instincts are fairly true; all you need is instruction and experience. Have you seen St. Peter’s?”

“Yes,” said Patty, “but I’ve only bowed to it. I haven’t shaken hands with it yet. But I know one thing about it. Somebody told me. It’s baroque.”

Mr. Leland smiled, and said, not at all unkindly:

“Whoever told you that was utterly ignorant of the real meaning of baroque. In no sense does it apply to St. Peter’s. That church, my dear child, if anybody asks you, is flubdubby.”

“Is what?” exclaimed Patty.

“Flubdubby in the extreme. I may say it’s pure flubdub. If you want to impress any one with your knowledge of architecture, say that, and you’ll hit the nail on the head.”

Patty was almost afraid her host was making fun of her, but his earnest manner proved he was not.

“We won’t go into details, now,” he said, “but some day I’ll take you there, and show you what I mean.”

Dinner was served then, and Patty went into a dining-room that made her feel as if she had been transplanted to China itself. It was really a remarkable room. The walls were hung with marvellous satin embroideries that had belonged to the Empress Dowager of China; and the screens and chairs were covered with the same exquisite handiwork. Bronzes and pottery of rare values were everywhere, and all of the dinner service was of porcelain, silver, and gold, that had once graced the tables in royal palaces.

Patty was so enraptured, looking at the beautiful and curious things, she had no appetite for the viands that were offered her by soft-footed, swift-motioned Celestials.

“You are more susceptible to beauty and colour than any one I ever saw, Miss Fairfield,” said her host, after he had covertly watched Patty’s shining eyes.

“She is,” declared her father. “From a child she has loved pretty things, and she has a perfect passion for bright colour.”

“But always with a good sense of colour values,” put in Nan, lest Mr. Leland should think Patty a little barbarian.

“I’m sure of that,” he said, kindly; “and I shall hope, Miss Fairfield, to have the pleasure of showing you some of the most beautiful things in Rome, which are not shown, except to appreciative eyes.”

Patty’s appreciative eyes danced at this, for she knew Mr. Leland was a man of influence, and could take her to many places where strangers were not usually allowed.

After dinner a delightful evening was spent viewing the treasures collected by their host on his many trips to Oriental countries, and Patty became more and more awed at his extensive knowledge of the art works of all ages and countries.

“I don’t see how you remember it all,” she said, looking at him earnestly. “I should think you’d have to have a head as big as the Coliseum, and,—you haven’t!”

“No one can have the ‘big head,’” said Mr. Leland, smiling, “when he realises the great minds and great geniuses who have produced these wonderful things.”

“No,” said Patty, “and I can’t even appreciate it. I can only wonder.”