uggestion.

"I don't believe he would mind," said May, as she plunged the beautiful
things up to their necks in the water-pitcher; "he has probably
forgotten, by this time, that he ever sent them."

And Kenwick, stretched upon the deck of the _Urania_ in the moonlight,
after the others had gone below, was, at that very moment, murmuring
softly to himself:

"All June I bound the rose in sheaves."

XVI

A Surrender

May Beverly was not given to the study of her own countenance. She knew,
of course, that it was a creditable production of Nature, that she had
good features and pretty colouring and that her fellow-creatures, as a
rule, seemed to like her looks. Beauty had not stolen upon her unawares
as the case is with so many young girls. She had always been pretty,
with the unquestioned, outspoken prettiness of a graceful animal or a
bright-hued flower. She took it for granted, as she did those other
gifts, of health and youth, and, on the whole, she gave it very little
thought.

It was therefore the more remarkable that she should have just been
spending a good half-hour before the looking-glass. She had the room to
herself this afternoon, for Pauline had gone again to Torcello, this
time with a party of old friends who had recently made their appearance
in Venice, and whose claims upon her sister May was somewhat inclined to
question. To-day, however, their exactions fell in most opportunely with
a certain plan of her own, which had come to her in the shape of a great
inspiration. The Torcello party had started directly after luncheon and
were to return by moonlight, and, Pauline being thus satisfactorily
disposed of, there remained but one lion in the path, in the person,
namely, of Uncle Dan.

As May stood before the dressing-table, upon which were billows of
bright silk handkerchiefs, each of which had in turn suffered rejection
at her hands, she was arranging a large _fichu_ of Spanish lace upon her
head in such fashion as completely to cover her pretty hair. She tilted
her head first at one angle and then at another, scowling fiercely in
her effort to decide how great a change had been wrought in her
appearance. Whether owing to the presence of the scowl, or to the
absence of the yellow top-knot, the countenance certainly had a very
unfamiliar look, and, well pleased with the effect, she turned away and
stepped out upon the balcony.

The day was very warm, not a breath of air found its way