ome architecture," said Dolly.

"May I ask what instances? I am curious to see how our tastes
harmonise."

"Ah, but I know nothing about it," said Dolly. "I am entirely--or
almost entirely--ignorant; and you know and understand."

"'Almost entirely?'" said Mr. Thayer. "You have studied the subject?"

"A little," said Dolly, smiling and blushing.

"Do favour me. I am desirous to know what you have seen that
particularly pleased you."

"The cathedral at Limburg."

"Limburg. Oh--ah! yes, it was _there_ we first met you. I was thinking
it was in the museum of the Capitol. Limburg. You liked that?"

"Very much!"

"Romanesque--or rather Transition."

"I do not know what Romanesque is, or Transition either."

"Did you notice the round arches and the pointed arches?"

"I do not remember. Yes, I do remember the round arches; but I was
thinking rather of the effect of the whole."

"The church at Limburg shows a mixture of the round Romanesque and the
pointed Gothic; Gothic was preparing; that sort of thing belongs to the
first half of the thirteenth century. Well, that bespeaks very good
taste. What next would you mention, Miss Dolly?"

"I don't know; I have enjoyed so many things. Perhaps I should say the
Doge's palace at Venice."

"Ha! the Doge's palace, hey? You like the pink and white marble."

"Don't you, Mr. Thayer?"

"That's not what one looks for in architecture. What do you say to St.
Peter's?"

"You will find a great deal of fault with me. I did not care for it."

"Not? It is Michael Angelo's work."

"But knowing the artist is no reason for admiring the work," said
Dolly, smiling.

"You are very independent! St. Peter's! Not to admire St. Peter's!"

"I admired the magnificence, and the power, and a great many things;
but I did not like the building. Not nearly so much as some others."

"Now I wish we could go to Paestum, and see what you would say to pure
old Greek work. But it would be as much as our lives are worth, I
suppose."

"Yes, Mr. Thayer," his wife cried; "don't talk about Paestum; they are
going to-morrow to the point."

"The point? what point? the coast is full of points."

"The Punta di Campanella, papa," said Christina.

"I thought you were going to Capri?"

"We'll keep Capri till Sandie comes. He would be a help on the water.
All our marine excursions we will keep until Sandie comes. I only hope
he'll be good and come."

The very air seemed full of pleasant anticipati