t matter where," said Kitty, and was turning
away; but Margaret caught her hand and caressed it.

"Naughty Kitty! why this sea air can't put some more color into your
cheeks I don't understand."

"I'm <i>not</i> pale!" cried Kitty, pouting. "Margaret, you do croak about me
so! If you say any more I'll go and rouge till you'll be ashamed to go
out with me--there! Where's William?"

William opened the door as she spoke, the <i>Gazetta di Venezia</i> in one
hand and a telegram in the other.

"Something for you, darling," he said, holding it out to Kitty. "Shall I
open it?"

"Oh no!" said Kitty, hastily. "Give it me. It's from my Paris woman."

"Ah--ha!" laughed Ashe. "Some extravagance you want to keep to yourself,
I'll be bound. I've a good mind to see!"

And he teasingly held it up above her head. But she gave a little jump,
caught it, and ran off with it to her room.

"Much regret impossible stop publication. Fifty copies distributed
already. Writing."

She dropped speechless on the edge of her bed, the crumpled telegram in
her hand. The minutes passed.

"When will you be ready?" said Ashe, tapping at the door.

"Is the gondola there?"

"Waiting at the steps."

"Five minutes!" Ashe departed. She rose, tore the telegram into little
bits, and began with deliberation to put on her mantle and hat.

"You've got to go through with it," she said to the white face in the
glass, and she straightened her small shoulders defiantly.

* * * * *

They were bound for the Armenian convent. It was a misty day, with
shafts of light on the lagoon. The storm had passed, but the water was
still rough, and the clouds seemed to be withdrawing their forces only
to marshal them again with the darkness. A day of sudden bursts of
watery light, of bands of purple distance struck into enchanting beauty
by the red or orange of a sail, of a wild salt breath in air that seemed
to be still suffused with spray. The Alps were hidden; but what sun
there was played faintly on the Euganean hills.

"I say, Margaret, at last she does us some credit!" said Ashe, pointing
to his wife.

Margaret started. Was it rouge?--or was it the strong air? Kitty's
languor had entirely disappeared; she was more cheerful and more
talkative than she had been at any time since their arrival. She
chattered about the current scandals of Venice--the mysterious contessa
who lived in the palace opposite their own, and o