Mrs. Copley withdrew her head from the trunk and looked about for something further to fit in. In passing she cast her niece a reproachful glance. ‘I don’t see how you can be so flippant, Marcia, after what we’ve been through to-night—and with your uncle lying wounded in the next room! It’s only one chance in a hundred that we aren’t all in our graves by now. I shall not draw an easy breath until we have landed safely in the streets of New York. Just hand me that pile of things on the chair there.’ Her gaze rested upon a parti-coloured assortment of ribbons and laces and gloves. Marcia suppressed another smile. ‘I know it isn’t the time to laugh, Aunt Katherine, but I can’t help it. You’re so—sort of businesslike. It never would have occurred to me to pack to-night.’ ‘We are going into Rome the first thing to-morrow morning, and with only Granton to help there is no time to lose. We might as well begin while we are waiting for the doctor—he surely ought to be here by now,’ she added, her anxiety coming to the fore. ‘What do you suppose takes him so long? It’s been an hour since we sent.’ ‘It’s four miles to Palestrina, Aunt Katherine. And you must remember it’s the middle of the night; the man was probably in bed and asleep. It will be another half hour at least before he can get here.’ ‘Yes, I suppose so’—Mrs. Copley turned back to her packing—‘but I can’t help being worried! One suspects everybody after an experience like this. I am really feeling very nervous over your uncle’s arm; he makes light of it, but it may be more serious than any of us think. There’s always so much danger of lockjaw or blood-poisoning from a wound of that sort. I shall not feel satisfied about it until we can get into Rome and consult an American doctor.’ ‘May I see him?’ Marcia asked, ‘or is he asleep?’ ‘No, he’s awake; but you must not excite him.’ Marcia tapped lightly on Mr. Copley’s door and entered. He was propped up on pillows, his arm in a sling. She crossed over and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m so sorry, Uncle Howard,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, it’s nothing to make a fuss over. I got off very easily.’ ‘I don’t mean just your arm—I mean—everything.’ ‘Ah,’ said Copley, and shut his eyes. ‘But, after all,’ she added, ‘it may be for the best. The Italians don’t understand what you are doing. I don’t believe two such different races can understand each other.’ He opened his eyes with a humorous smile. ‘It’s rather a comic-opera ending,’ he agreed. ‘I have a feeling that before the curtain goes down I should join hands with the bandits and come out and make my bow.’ ‘There are lots of things to be done in America, and they’ll appreciate you more at home.’ ‘I think I’ll buy a yacht and go in for racing, as your aunt suggests. I may come off in that—if I have a captain.’ Marcia sat silent a moment, looking down on his finely lined, sensitive face.