And although they were Americans, they had lived abroad so much that they had many European ways which Livingstone found very fascinating and superior. For instance, they were quite at home in Roman churches, and whenever they went to listen to special music in some chapel the girls had a quick, easy capacity for dropping to their knees in a quite unself-conscious way that made them to Livingstone's eyes fit right in with the picture. If it had not been for Crittenden, whose stiff provincial American joints never dreamed of bending, he would have knelt beside the girls. Not that he _believed_ in any of the religious part of it! But it was so European to go down on your knees in public. If he did, he was sure that people around them would think that he was a member of one of those ultra-smart English Catholic families. Crittenden always was the great, hulking obstacle in the way of any flexible and gracious Europeanizing of their lives. Livingstone had seen the two girls recoil time and time again, shocked by his bruskness. And it was not only to women that he was brusk. He had occasionally an insufferable way of treating any one who approached him with a civil question, as when Livingstone on a sudden recollection had said to him, "Oh, but by the way, Crittenden, how about your being only five days in Rome?" "_How_ about it?" Crittenden had repeated as though he'd never heard of it before. "Why, you said you had to return at once--that inheritance, you know--you said you had only five days." Crittenden had had the impertinence to stare at him hard and say coolly, "Oh, you must be mistaken about that." Civilized people didn't have such manners! And that other time, the evening when he had stayed up late on the terrazza to smoke with Crittenden, when he had asked, "But all men of the world agree that nothing is so full of flavor as an affair with a married woman. You, no doubt, Crittenden, have also had your experiences, eh?" What sort of an answer did Crittenden consider it, to burst out with that sudden great horse-laugh as though Livingstone had been telling him a funny story? The man simply had no experience or understanding--a raw, crude, bumptious provincial, that's what _he_ was! One who had not even sense enough to know how pitifully narrow his life was. CHAPTER XLVII Coming to know a new acquaintance was, thought Marise, as though you stood back of a painter, watching him stroke by stroke paint the portrait of a sitter whom you could not see.