For the rest of the drive they chatted quite gaily over the adventure. Sybert for the time dismissed whatever he had on his mind; and as for Marcia—St. Paul’s cloisters were behind in Rome. As they turned into the avenue the lights of the villa gleamed brightly through the trees. ‘See, Gervasio,’ said Sybert. ‘That is where you are going to live.’ Gervasio nodded, too awed to speak. Presently he whispered, ‘Shall I see the little _principino_?’ ‘The little _principino_? what does he mean?’ Marcia asked. ‘The little principino with yellow hair,’ Gervasio repeated. ‘Gerald!’ Sybert laughed. ‘The ‘_principino_’ is good for a free-born American. Ah—and here is the old prince,’ he added, as the carriage wheels grated on the gravel before the loggia and Copley stepped out from the hall to see who had come. ‘Hello! is that you, Sybert?’ he called out in surprise. ‘And, Marcia! I thought you had decided to stay in town—what in the deuce have you brought with you?’ ‘A boy and a dog, O Prince,’ said Sybert, as he set Gervasio on his feet. ‘Miss Marcia must plead guilty to the dog, but I will take half the blame for the boy.’ Gervasio and Marcellus were conveyed into the hall, and it would be difficult to say which was the more frightened of the two. Marcellus slunk under a chair and whined at the lights, and Gervasio looked after him as if he were tempted to follow. Mrs. Copley, attracted by the disturbance, appeared from the salon, and a medley of questions and explanations ensued. Gervasio, meanwhile, sat up very straight and very scared, clutching the arms of the big carved chair in which Sybert had placed him. ‘We thought he might be useful to run errands,’ Sybert suggested as they finished the account of the boy’s maltreatment. ‘Poor child!’ said Mrs. Copley. ‘We can find something for him to do. He is small, but he looks intelligent. I have always intended to have a little page—or he might even do as a tiger for Gerald’s pony-cart.’ ‘No, Aunt Katherine,’ expostulated Marcia. ‘I shan’t have him dressed in livery. I don’t think it’s right to turn him into a servant before he’s old enough to choose.’ ‘The position of a trained servant is a much higher one than he would ever fill if left to himself. He is only a peasant child, my dear.’ ‘He is a psychological problem,’ she declared. ‘I am going to prove that environment is everything and heredity’s nothing, and I shan’t have him dressed in livery. I found him, and he’s mine—at least half mine.’ She glanced across at Sybert and he nodded approval. ‘I will turn my share of the authority over to you, Miss Marcia, since it appears to be in such good hands.’ ‘Marcia shall have her way,’ said Mr. Copley. ‘We’ll let Gervasio be an unofficial page and postpone the question of livery for the present.’ ‘He can play with Gerald,’ she suggested. ‘We were wishing the other night that he had some one to play with, and Gervasio will be just the person; it will be good for his Italian.’