The idea tempted, fascinated, then grew suddenly sour; and he heard his own voice, speaking as much to himself as to Rowden: “You bet I’d give up journalism if I could make a living in the theatre, but till I can—and I WILL—I have to do what the boss says.”

“I see. The boss. This man Merryweather.”

“Well, he pays me for writing the stuff.”

Rowden nodded, lit a cigarette, and pressed the bell. “Then we must tell Briggs about your packing. You haven’t time to catch the night boat, but there’s another sails at eight in the morning. Leave here about seven— Roberts will drive you to Kingstown. If you’ll excuse me, I won’t get up to see you off, but we must certainly drink a good wine this evening—to celebrate your Roman holiday. Not champagne, I think—that is for cocottes… but I have a rather special Burgundy…”

* * * * *

Dinner was gay; Rowden could be the most gracious of hosts, and Paul liked him almost feverishly now they were so soon to separate. Naturally much of their talk was of Rome and Italy. “I wish I were coming with you, Paul. To be with anyone when he first crosses the Alps, but you especially—a young American—tabula rasa… Who IS this man Merryweather? An editor, yes, I know that—but what sort of person—is he simpatico—does he have any idea of his power—to whisk you about the world—London—Dublin—Rome—to offer you, at the impressionable age, such unrivalled chances of experience— some lifetime friendship, maybe, or fate itself, in one guise or another? Or is it merely that he wants those little articles that you write with such deplorable skill?”

“Probably only that.”

“How unimaginative!”

“Well, he knows what he wants and he doesn’t care what _I_ want. I once asked him if I could do the drama criticism, but he said no—I knew too much, he was afraid I’d be highbrow.”

“Surely a strain, though, as it becomes harder for you to find subjects you know nothing about. Or perhaps it doesn’t?”

“That’s where travel helps. Widens the circle of ignorance. The unsophisticated viewpoint on Rome—I’ll get it, you see.”

“Rome might even make you FEEL unsophisticated. It has a unique society —or rather two societies, one based on the aristocracy and the other on the Vatican. I must give you some introductions.”

“Thanks—I’ll be the Iowa farm-boy amongst all that—it’ll suit Merryweather fine. Because in spite of Emily Post, America loves the guy who isn’t sure what knife and fork to use.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I try not to be TOO sure. And where finger-bowls are concerned I guard all my innocence. Haven’t you caught me at it?”

“No, but it fits well with your somewhat complex behaviour. You’re an exceedingly complex character—did you ever realize that? A certain charm, when you care to use it, hides your arrogance, and your arrogance hides your humility, and your humility hides… what, I wonder?… I don’t know, and nor do you—you can’t know—YET. Meanwhile if I can help you… I shall write a few letters you can take to Italy—Briggs will give them to you before you leave in the morning. They’ll be to quite influential people—but Mussolini isn’t among them, unfortunately. He’s something new in the Roman firmament since my day.”

“You know Rome well?”

“As a youth I lived there several years—-till soon after my father died. I was being trained for the priesthood.”

“And then you found you had no vocation?”

“To be less dramatic I found I had a brewery. My father had left it to my elder brother, but when HE died suddenly I got it… Of course you’re quite right—I couldn’t have had any real vocation.”

Paul thought this over and then said: “I suppose what you did proved it. And yet, isn’t it a bit too neat—that everything’s all for the best, whether you give up something or not? I’m lucky—I know what I’ll never give up, and anyone can put me to any test they like.” He checked himself, realizing that there was in all this an implied condemnation of the other, anxious also to avoid an exchange of confessions. He had a curious feeling that he and Rowden could understand each other if they tried, but he did not want to try; on the contrary, he felt embarrassed and evasive, as if he were discovered without a passport at a frontier. He said: “I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve been talking a lot of nonsense… Of course I’ll be glad to meet your friends, it’s very kind of you to suggest it, though I don’t know how long I’ll be in Rome. It all depends on Mussolini—”

“May I give you a word of advice?” Rowden leaned towards Paul across the table. “Just this.