of pondering in the course of that day and the next,
and, as he was quite unable to justify, or even to formulate his
anxieties, he wished that he might at least find out whether the truth
in regard to the gondolier were known to May. That might throw some
light upon the subject.

He was aware, to be sure, of the Colonel's studied secrecy in the
matter, but secrets are ticklish things at the best, and no stray hint
was likely to have been lost upon a girl of May's intelligence. He had
a notion that, if he could get a word with Nanni himself, it would be
easy to sound him on the point; a delusion that was destined to be early
dissipated.

On the second morning following the Torcello trip, Geof was swimming in
the Adriatic, far out beyond the line of bathers, shouting and
splashing; in the shallows. There, under a dazzling sky, with a strong
wind blowing, and whitecaps careering about, he came face to face with
the subject of his speculations. The incongruity of catechising a man of
his countenance was instantly apparent.

"_Buon giorno, Signore_," said Nanni, and Daymond found himself
returning the salutation with a courtesy that was little short of
deferential. The two men had met upon a common footing,--if the watery
deep may be said to furnish one,--and Geof had found himself at a
disadvantage.

The incident did not altogether allay his friendly solicitude; on the
contrary, he was abashed and confounded at this evidence of the power of
the Italian's personality; and yet, he was more definitely conscious
than he had hitherto been, of a certain racial nobility in the man
which commanded confidence.

The wind, that had been a sportive, if somewhat riotous breeze in the
morning, gained in force as the day went on. There were few gondolas out
in the afternoon, and Geof went about on foot. He walked the length of
the wind-swept Riva degli Schiavoni, and then he struck across the city,
by narrow alleys and picturesque, out-of-the-way squares, and looked in
at certain churches for which the guide-books recommend the afternoon
light. Toward the end of the day he found his way back to the Piazza.

The great square was in holiday guise, in honour of some guest of the
city. From the three famous flag-staffs in front of San Marco the
colours of Italy were floating, rolling and unrolling upon the breeze,
in gracefully undulating folds. Men were affixing additional gas-jets to
the great candelabra, making ready for the evenin