es," said
she. "But you wouldn't find it quite so simple in this case. The Court
would hardly deprive a woman of the guardianship of her child because
she'd been seen to go ... _with another woman_ ... to inquire after an
injured man ... ostensibly a friend ... who may or may not be her
lover...."

The Colonel bumbled like an angry hornet. "Who's this other woman,
anyhow?" demanded he. Then answered himself as crusty old gentlemen so
often do. "In my opinion she's only a common...." The Colonel's language
became very Anglo-Indian indeed.

But Lady Wychcote succeeded in calming him down and finally persuading
him that her method would be the wisest and surest.

* * * * *

It was on a day all magical with shine and storm that Sophy journeyed to
Venice across the Lombard plain. As they neared the sea one-half the sky
was thunderous blue, one-half like golden crystal. Green marsh lands
spread in gentle melancholy beneath. Suddenly two orange sails in
sunlight unfurled their burning petals against the green. And these
great, burning sail-petals, drifting slowly along hidden waterways
across the sad, green reaches, lent a thrill as of the passionate
mystery of the sea to the tranquil inland.

There was more pain than joy for Sophy in this beauty. One should first
see Venice with first love in one's heart, not third love, she told
herself bitterly. And she was glad that she had written Amaldi not to
meet her. As much as she longed to see him, she was relieved to think
that she would have some hours in which to adjust her mood to this
rather overwhelming loveliness before seeing him again. As they went up
the Grand Canal towards the Rio San Vio, where she had taken a flat, the
Vesper bells began to ring. A feeling of sadness, almost of
apprehension, stole over her. The clear, liquid voices of the bells
seemed warning her of something. She began to wonder if she had been
right to come to Venice....

But the next day when she saw Amaldi she was glad again. This love that
he gave her was very wonderful. She remembered, wincing, how she had
once longed for Loring to give her a love like that of the old Romaunts.
Now this love was really hers. Yet she felt that she was cruel to accept
it--taking so much yet willing to give so little; for when she saw
Amaldi this first time after telling him that she cared "more than she
knew"--she realised that what she offered him was indeed the shadow of a
fl