o me, "Didn't I tell you the other night that she
had sent me out? You see that I can do what I like!"

"Do you pity her--do you teach her to pity herself?" Miss Bordereau
demanded before I had time to answer this appeal. "She has a much easier
life than I had when I was her age."

"You must remember that it has been quite open to me to think you rather
inhuman."

"Inhuman? That's what the poets used to call the women a hundred years
ago. Don't try that; you won't do as well as they!" Juliana declared.
"There is no more poetry in the world--that I know of at least. But
I won't bandy words with you," she pursued, and I well remember the
old-fashioned, artificial sound she gave to the speech. "You have made
me talk, talk! It isn't good for me at all." I got up at this and told
her I would take no more of her time; but she detained me to ask, "Do
you remember, the day I saw you about the rooms, that you offered us the
use of your gondola?" And when I assented, promptly, struck again with
her disposition to make a "good thing" of being there and wondering what
she now had in her eye, she broke out, "Why don't you take that girl out
in it and show her the place?"

"Oh, dear Aunt, what do you want to do with me?" cried the "girl" with a
piteous quaver. "I know all about the place!"

"Well then, go with him as a cicerone!" said Miss Bordereau with an
effort of something like cruelty in her implacable power of retort--an
incongruous suggestion that she was a sarcastic, profane, cynical old
woman. "Haven't we heard that there have been all sorts of changes in
all these years? You ought to see them and at your age (I don't mean
because you're so young) you ought to take the chances that come. You're
old enough, my dear, and this gentleman won't hurt you. He will show you
the famous sunsets, if they still go on--DO they go on? The sun set for
me so long ago. But that's not a reason. Besides, I shall never miss
you; you think you are too important. Take her to the Piazza; it used
to be very pretty," Miss Bordereau continued, addressing herself to me.
"What have they done with the funny old church? I hope it hasn't tumbled
down. Let her look at the shops; she may take some money, she may buy
what she likes."

Poor Miss Tita had got up, discountenanced and helpless, and as we stood
there before her aunt it would certainly have seemed to a spectator of
the scene that the old woman was amusing herself at our expense. Miss
Tita p