From the table which they had been lunching two American ladies of ripe but well-cared-for middle age moved across the lofty terrace of the Roman restaurant and, leaning on its parapet, looked first at each other, and then down on the outspread glories of the Palatine and the Forum, with the same expression of vague but benevolent approval. As they leaned there, a girlish voice echoed up gaily from the stairs leading to the court below. "Well, come along, then," it cried, not to them but to an invisible companion, "and let's lead the young things to their knitting," and a voice as fresh laughed beck: "OH, look here, Babs, not actually knitting." "Well, I mean figuratively," rejoined the first. "After all, we haven't left our poor parents much else to do... " At that point, the turn of the stairs engulfed the dialogue.