Her Roman Lover
“How rude he was,” commented Anne, “and how nice! It is the same with Lady Fitz-Smith. Americans cannot be as rude as that and still be nice. I am beginning to understand now,” she cried, eager in her pursuit of national classifications. “Roughly speaking, the English one meets traveling are rude. The Americans are common. I think,” she added regretfully, “that I would rather be rude.”
“You think too much of international differences,” said Curatulo; “I wish you would think rather of the things which are alike. I wish you would think that a man is a man, and a woman a woman, never mind what side of an ocean they come from. And there is another thing—why must we always meet in salons where there are people about—annoying people who interrupt? You have reproached me with being frivolous, but is it not rather you who are frivolous? What do you see of Rome?” He began to speak rapidly, bending toward her with his elbows on his knees and his firm brown hands clasped between. “What do you know of its grave and spacious charm, which is so much deeper a thing than the decorative loveliness of Florence. Let me be your guide. You will find me a good one. I will show you some of the greatest statues in the world. I will show you a Greek50
