Don't you be swept away--and I'll answer for Mrs.Burgoyne.' So on they hurried, borne along with the human current through passages and corridors, part of a laughing, pushing, chatting crowd, containing all the types that throng the Roman streets--English and American tourists, Irish or German or English priests, monks white and brown, tall girls who wore their black veils with an evident delight in the new setting thus given to their fair hair and brilliant skins, beside older women to whom, on the contrary, the dress had given a kind of unwonted repose and quietness of look, as though for once they dared to be themselves in it, and gave up the struggle with the years.
Reggie Brooklyn maintained a lively chatter all the time, mostly at Manisty's expense.

Eleanor Burgoyne first laughed at his sallies, then gently turned her head in a pause of the general advance and searched the crowd pressing at their heels.

Lucy's eyes followed hers, and there far behind, carried forward passively in a brown study, losing ground slightly whenever it was possible, was Manisty.

The fine significant face was turned a little upward; the eyes were full of thoughts; he was at once the slave of the crowd, and its master.
And across Eleanor's expression--unseen--there passed the slightest, subtlest flash of tenderness and pride.

She knew and understood him--she alone! * * * * * At last the doors are passed.