He learned quickly, too, the perils of such a tie: that in Rome an erring husband is frequently forgiven, but an unfaithful lover placed beyond the pale. There seemed to be a curious reverence shown to these love affairs, illegally cemented, whereas mere marriage was lightly shelved as an arrangement made by parents in the interests of property and to ensure a lawful heir. Altogether, Rome was amusing and instructive, especially in his own favoured case. With a fine old title and certain wealth, young, handsome and popular, the new Marquis threw himself into the social whirl with a cool head, a guarded heart and the flair of an ardent explorer. England, that island in the North, foggy and grey, inhabited by "Cadells," seemed a dream of another world as he lay on the sunny Italian sands. And yet... He stirred, drawing up his knees, his hands clasped round them, his eyes far away. For there stung through his complacency a sudden shaft of desire--that haunting love of home which grips a man unawares, with a sense of exile in a foreign land. The mountains, where the marble lay in cool jagged quarries, vanished from his sight and in their place came a picture of London: her busy, grimy streets with the ceaseless throb of her beating heart, as the fight went on, obstinate, merciless, the struggle for success--for money and power... And that other London: the crowded Park, Hurlingham, Ascot--he drew a deep breath! And London by night with the cries of the newsboys--the block of taxis in the long line theatreward, the lights of that Circus where the Criterion leers at his gaily lit neighbour, the Pavilion. A sudden nostalgia seized McTaggart. The shrill laughter of the merry bathing group, the cloudless glare of sea and sky grew wearisome. He rose quickly to his feet. "Mario!" He called to his man who was seated in the shade thrown by the osier fence, studying tips for the coming races. "Mario--I shall dress now." The olive face flashed into a smile as the man sprang nimbly to his feet. For Mario adored his young master, a welcome change from the elderly Marquis with his fads and fancies and uncertain temper. "Sissignore--at once! signore." Still he lingered, deferential. "A thousand excuses, but does he remember the Princess Doria lunches with us to-day? The Signore has but his grey suit in the shed. It would be better to dress at the villa." "Va bene--I had forgotten her! _And_ the new Poet----" he added, aside, "I can't stand that effeminate ass, but she never goes two steps without him!" He slipped on a long bath towel garment, screening his scanty bathing gown, and drew the hood down over his head while Mario produced slippers with soles of twisted hemp, and tied them on to his master's feet. Now, not unlike a Dominican friar, in this primitive costume, he crossed the beach and turned along the country road until he came to the first pines, Mario in the rear, carrying his clothes.