Singleton had come to bid farewell to Saint Peter's, and he was gathering a few supreme memories.

He had earned a purse-full of money, and he was meaning to take a summer's holiday; going to Switzerland, to Germany, to Paris.

In the autumn he was to return home; his family--composed, as Rowland knew, of a father who was cashier in a bank and five unmarried sisters, one of whom gave lyceum-lectures on woman's rights, the whole resident at Buffalo, New York--had been writing him peremptory letters and appealing to him as a son, brother, and fellow-citizen.

He would have been grateful for another year in Rome, but what must be must be, and he had laid up treasure which, in Buffalo, would seem infinite.

They talked some time; Rowland hoped they might meet in Switzerland, and take a walk or two together.