do; I'm too tormented, I'm too
ashamed!" she continued with vehemence. Then turning away from me and
burying her face in her hands she burst into a flood of tears. If she
did not know what to do it may be imagined whether I did any better.
I stood there dumb, watching her while her sobs resounded in the great
empty hall. In a moment she was facing me again, with her streaming
eyes. "I would give you everything--and she would understand, where she
is--she would forgive me!"

"Ah, Miss Tita--ah, Miss Tita," I stammered, for all reply. I did
not know what to do, as I say, but at a venture I made a wild, vague
movement in consequence of which I found myself at the door. I remember
standing there and saying, "It wouldn't do--it wouldn't do!" pensively,
awkwardly, grotesquely, while I looked away to the opposite end of the
sala as if there were a beautiful view there. The next thing I remember
is that I was downstairs and out of the house. My gondola was there and
my gondolier, reclining on the cushions, sprang up as soon as he saw me.
I jumped in and to his usual "Dove commanda?" I replied, in a tone that
made him stare, "Anywhere, anywhere; out into the lagoon!"

He rowed me away and I sat there prostrate, groaning softly to myself,
with my hat pulled over my face. What in the name of the preposterous
did she mean if she did not mean to offer me her hand? That was the
price--that was the price! And did she think I wanted it, poor deluded,
infatuated, extravagant lady? My gondolier, behind me, must have seen my
ears red as I wondered, sitting there under the fluttering tenda, with
my hidden face, noticing nothing as we passed--wondered whether her
delusion, her infatuation had been my own reckless work. Did she think
I had made love to her, even to get the papers? I had not, I had not;
I repeated that over to myself for an hour, for two hours, till I was
wearied if not convinced. I don't know where my gondolier took me; we
floated aimlessly about in the lagoon, with slow, rare strokes. At last
I became conscious that we were near the Lido, far up, on the right
hand, as you turn your back to Venice, and I made him put me ashore. I
wanted to walk, to move, to shed some of my bewilderment. I crossed the
narrow strip and got to the sea beach--I took my way toward Malamocco.
But presently I flung myself down again on the warm sand, in the breeze,
on the coarse dry grass. It took it out of me to think I had been
so much at fault,