eams of pearly white and ivory yellow, under beardy trails of moss old
as the marble out of which it grew. And over high walls, delicate
branches of acacia and tamarisk beckoned us, above low-hung drapery of
wistaria, that dropped purple tassels to the lapping water's edge.

So we wound through one narrow, palace-walled Rio after another, until
Venice began to seem like a jewelled net, with its carved precious
stones intricately strung on threads of silver; and then suddenly, to my
surprise, we burst into a great canal.

I saw a bridge, which I knew from many pictures must be the Rialto, but
there was no disappointment, no flatness in the impression of having
seen this all before, for not the greatest genius who ever lived could
paint Venice at her every day best. Palace after palace; and by-and-by a
church with a front carved in ivory by the growing moonlight, thrown up
against a background of rose.

"Palladio, it must be!" I cried.

"Yes; it's San Georgio Maggiore, Terry Barrymore's favourite church in
Venice," said Sir Ralph, who had been almost as silent as I. "And here
we are at the Hotel Britannia."

"Why, it has a garden!" exclaimed Aunt Kathryn. "I never thought of a
garden in Venice."

"There are several of the loveliest in Italy," replied Sir Ralph. "But
the Britannia's the only hotel that has one."

"My friend's palazzo has a courtyard garden with a wonderful old marble
well-head, and beautiful statues," said the Prince. "He and his wife are
coming to call on you to-morrow, and you will have the opportunity of
thanking them for their gondola. Also, they will probably invite you to
leave the hotel, and visit them during the rest of your stay, as they
are very hospitable."

"I'll wager you won't want to leave the Britannia, once you are settled
there," said Sir Ralph quickly. "It's the most comfortable hotel in
Venice, and Terry and I have wired for rooms with balconies overlooking
the Grand Canal, and the garden. There isn't a palace going that I
would forsake the Britannia for."

By this time the gondola had slipped between some tall red posts, and
brought us to the steps of the hotel. I was glad that they were marble
steps and that the house had once been a palace, otherwise I should not
have felt I was making the most of Venice.

If I live to be a hundred (one of the Sisters is close on eighty) I
shall never forget that first night in the City of the Sea.

It was good to see Mr. Barrymore back