‘Most men wouldn’t care for this,’ he nodded toward the prim little garden with its violets and roses framed in by the pillared cloister and higher up by the dull grey walls of the church and monastery. ‘But a few do. Since that is the case, why not let the majority mine their coal and build their railroads, and the very small minority who do care stay and appreciate it? It is fortunate that we don’t all like the same things, for there’s a great variety of work to be done. Of course,’ he added, ‘I know well enough I’m never going to do anything very great; I don’t set up for a genius. But to do a few little things well—isn’t that something?’ They had reached the opposite end of the cloisters, and paused by one of the pillars, leaning against the balustrade. ‘You think it’s shirking one’s duty not to live in America?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know,’ Marcia smiled vaguely. ‘I think—perhaps I’m changing my mind.’ ‘I only know of one thing,’ he said in a low tone, ‘that would make me want to be exiled from Italy.’ Marcia had a quick foreboding that she knew what he was going to say, and for a moment she hesitated; then her eyes asked: ‘What is that?’ Paul looked down at the sun-barred pavement in silence, and then he looked up in her face and smiled steadily. ‘If you lived out of Italy.’ Marcia received this in silence, while she dropped her eyes to the effigy of a dead monk set in the pavement and commenced mechanically following the Latin inscription. There was still time; she was still mistress of the situation. By a laugh, an adroit turn, she could overlook his words; could bring their relations back again to their normal footing. But she was by no means sure that she wished to bring them back to their normal footing; she felt a sudden, quite strong curiosity to know what he would say next. ‘Hang it! Marcia,’ he exclaimed. ‘I suppose you want to marry a prince, or something like that?’ ‘A prince?’ she inquired. ‘Why a prince?’ ‘Oh, it’s what you women are always after—having a coronet on your carriage door, with all the servants bowing and saying, “_Si, si, eccelenza_,” every time you turn around.’ ‘It would be fun,’ she agreed. ‘Do you happen to know of any desirable unmarried princes?’ ‘There aren’t any.’ ‘No? Why, I met one the other day that I thought quite charming. His family is seven hundred years old, and he owns two castles and three villages.’ ‘He wouldn’t stay charming. You’d find the castles damp, and the villages dirty, and the prince stupid.’ He dropped his hand over hers where it rested on the balustrade. ‘You’d better take me, Marcia; in the long run you’ll find me nicer.’ Marcia shook her head, but she did not draw away her hand. ‘Really, Paul, I don’t know—and there’s nothing I hate so much in the world as making up my mind. You shouldn’t ask such unanswerable things.’