“How can you ask? My feet are quite wild. No wonder I am a different girl. Are we not going to the Pincian hill to look at the live world and people? I have just unlocked the stop-gates and let the blood bound in my veins as it wants to.” “It has been taking the cinque-pace, I should say from your long face to-day.” “O, it has only been trying to keep step with the march of the ages, or some such stately tread, but it was hard work, and now the dear life of me hops, skips and jumps, like this,” and Mae seized her brother and danced across the room, stopping very near Mr. Mann, who stood with his back to them, drumming on the window pane. She looked at him quizzically and half raised her eyebrows. Eric shook his head, and said aloud in his outspoken way: “You owe him an apology, Mae, for this morning’s rudeness.” Mr. Mann turned quickly. “I am surprised, Eric. Let your sister find out for herself when she is rude.” “Bless me,” cried Eric, “what is the row?” Mae looked determined. “Are you going to the Pincian with us?” she asked. “No, I am going to stay home.” “Well, good-bye, then. Come, Eric.” The door closed behind them. Mr. Mann stood by the window and watched them walk away. Mae, with her eager, restless, fresh life showing out in every motion; Eric, with his boy-man air and his student swing and happy-go-lucky toss of his head. Mr. Mann smiled and then he sighed. “That’s a good boy, so square and fair and merry--and a queer girl,” he added. “Rome isn’t the place for her. She must get away, though why I should take care for her, or worry about her, little vixen. I don’t see.” Still he smiled as one would over a very winning, very wicked child, and shortly after took his hat and went to the Pincio, after all. Meantime, the brother and sister had walked gaily along, passed the Spanish Steps, and were on the Pincian hill. Here, Mae was indeed happy. The fine equipages and dark, rich beauty of the Italians delighted her, and she and Eric found a shaded bench, and watched the carriages drive round and round, and criticised, and admired, and laughed like two idle children. They bought some flowers, and Mae sat pulling them to pieces, when they caught sight, down the pathway, of two approaching Piedmontese officers. “O,” cried Mae, and dropped her flowers, and clasped her hands, and sprang to her feet, “O, Eric, are they gods or men?”