“Then I sha’n’t see you this afternoon?”
“Perhaps. If you care to accompany my aunt and myself on a little expedition.”
“I shall be delighted. And where?”
“To an old Venetian palace on the Grand Canal. We are to inspect it from garret to basement. A dealer in antiquities is to take us there. He is to buy the contents of the palace as they stand. You know my aunt, Mrs. Gordon, is never so happy as when buying some useless piece of bric-à-brac.”
“Beware of the dealer in bric-à-brac here in Venice. He is a Jew, your dealer–be sure of that.”
“Oh, no, he is not. Aunt and I know him well. He is an American.”
“His name?”
“St. Hilary. He has an immense shop on Fifth Avenue.”
“St. Hilary!” I exclaimed, “and he is here in Venice!”
“Do you know him?”