Livingstone fell back in his chair, dramatically. "The long struggle is over, Crittenden. Our fortunes are made!" he cried with his usual facetiousness, but by the expression on his face he was really moved and dazzled. "Kindly convey to Donna Antonia Pierleoni the assurance of our condescending regards and say that if we can spare the time from the press of other more important duties...." Neale said plainly and bluntly, "I'm afraid I'd better excuse myself. I have a previous engagement." The other two turned on him with faces of astonishment. "You're not _going_?" cried Livingstone, appalled. "Why should I break an engagement?" said Neale. "Why _should_ you?" Livingstone gaped at him. "Only the trifling, insignificant reason that Donna Antonia is one of the greatest _grandes dames_ in Rome, and Ambrogi one of _the_ coming men in the government." "Has that anything to do with me?" Neale asked with the sincerest incapacity to imagine any reason why it should. He was stricken with anticipatory boredom at the idea of having to make talk again with that disagreeable old woman. Livingstone wondered if Crittenden had really understood from whom the invitation came. "Don't you remember meeting her? The one with the wonderfully high-bred type?" "Oh, I remember her all right, the old lady with the predatory sharpness of beak and claw that's called aristocratic," said Neale, trying to get a rise out of Livingstone. That was usually easy enough, but he was now too genuinely concerned to defend his standards. "Now, Crittenden," he said, laying down his napkin and speaking from his heart, "to seem not to wish to continue the acquaintance of a lady who makes a civil advance--it simply _isn't done_!" "Oh, go on!" said Neale, laughing at the idea. "Much she'd care what an impecunious American in a pension does or doesn't do!" Livingstone had recovered himself enough to reflect that Neale's refusal would not at all hinder his own acceptance--in fact, on the contrary--"Well, well, no matter," he said with a change of manner, "perhaps you're right. Without a knowledge of the language, conversation in a small group _is_ rather--Five o'clock, did you say, Miss Allen?" "Yes, five," she answered. She went on, with a manner suddenly gay, "Perceive the difference in human fate. At five you will be taking tea with personages, and I shall be scurrying to take a belated music lesson." "Why at _that_ hour?" inquired Livingstone. "I've put it off to help Eugenia get settled here. For she's coming over, bag and baggage, Josephine and Mlle. Tollet, to live with us for a while. Isn't that jolly?"