Before going to bed Roma wrote to the Baron:

"Certain you are wrong. Why waste time sending Charles Minghelli

to London? Why? Why? Why? The forger will find out nothing, and if

he does, it will only be by exercise of his Israelitish art of

making bricks without straw. Stop him at once if you wish to save

public money and spare yourself personal disappointment. Stop him!

Stop him! Stop him!

"P.S.--To show you how far astray your man has gone, D. R.

mentioned to-night that he was once a waiter at the Grand Hotel!"

VI

Next morning David Rossi arrived early.

"Now we must get to work in earnest," said Roma. "I think I see my way

at last."

It was not John the beloved disciple, John who lay in the bosom of his

Lord. It was Peter, the devoted, stalwart, brave individual, human,

erring but glorious Peter. "Thou art Peter, and on this rock I build my

church."

"Same position as before. Eyes the other way. Thank you!... Afraid you

didn't enjoy yourself last night--no?"

"At the theatre? I was interested. But the human spectacle was perhaps

more to me than the artistic one. I am no artist, you see.... How did

you become a sculptor?"

"Oh, I studied a little in the studios of Paris, where I went to school,

you see."

"But you were born in London?"

"Yes."

"Why did you come to Rome?"

"Rome was the home of my people, you know. And then there was my

name--Roma!"

"I knew a Roma long ago."

"Really? Another Roma?"

There was a tremor in her voice.

"It was the little daughter of the friend I've spoken about."

"How interest ... No, at the window, please--that will do."

Roma was choking with a sense of duplicity, but save for a turn of the

head David Rossi gave no sign.

"She was only seven when I saw her last."

"That was long ago, you say?"

"Seventeen years ago."

"Then she will be the same age as...."

"The first time I saw her she was only three, and she was in her

nightdress ready for bed."

Roma laughed a little, but she knew that every note in her voice was

confused and false.

"She said her prayers with a little lisp at that time. 'Our Fader oo art

in heben, alud be dy name.'"




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