were rich—that is[Pg 7] understood of Americans; even Mamma had once been rich when she was a girl, Maria dimly remembered having heard—and they would give Maria a chance to meet people. . . . Men did not ask settlements in America. They earned great sums and could please themselves with a pretty, penniless face. . . . And what was saved on Maria's dowry would plump out Julietta's. [Pg 7] Thunderstruck, the Count objected. Maria was his favorite. "Send Julietta to America, then," he protested, but swallowed that foolishness at Mamma's calm, "To what good?" To what good, indeed! It would never do to risk the cost of a trip to America upon Julietta. Sulkily Papa argued that the cost in any case was prohibitive. But Mamma had the figures. "One must invest to receive," she insisted; and when he grumbled, "But to lose the child?"[Pg 8] she broke out, "Am I not losing her?" on a note that silenced him. [Pg 8] Then she added cheerfully, "But it will be for her own good." "You want her to marry an American? You are not satisfied, then, with Italians?" said Papa playfully leaning over to ruffle Mamma's soft, light hair and at his movement Maria Angelina fled swiftly from those curtains back to her post, and sat very still, a book in front of her, a haze of romance swimming between it and her startled eyes. America. . . . A rich husband. . . . Travel. . . . Adventure. . . . The unknown. . . . It was wonderful. It was unbelievable. . . . It was desperate. It was a hazard of the sharpest chance. That knowledge brought a chill of gravity into the hot currents of her beating heart—a chill that was the cold breath of a terrific responsibility. She felt herself the hope, the sole resource of her family. She was the die[Pg 9] on which their throw of fortune was to be cast. [Pg 9] Dropping her book she slid down from her chair and crossed to a long mirror in an old carved frame where a dove was struggling in a falcon's talons while Cupids drew vain bows, and in the dimmed glass stared in passionate
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