CHAPTER XIII.
They were all going down to the midday train for Rome.
At last the Ambassador--who had been passing through a series of political and domestic difficulties, culminating in the mutiny of his Neapolitan cook--had been able to carry out his whim.

A luncheon had been arranged for the young American girl who had taken his fancy.

At the head of his house for the time being was his married daughter, Lady Mary, who had come from India for the winter to look after her babies and her father.

When she was told to write the notes for this luncheon, she lifted her eyebrows in good-humoured astonishment.
'My dear,' said the Ambassador, 'we have been doing our duty for six months--and I find it pall!' He had been entertaining Royalties and Cabinet Ministers in heavy succession, and his daughter understood.

There was an element of insubordination in her father, which she knew better than to provoke.
So the notes were sent.
'Find her some types, my dear,' said the Ambassador;--'and little of everything.' Lady Mary did her best.