He took her hand and held it in his, as he said, "This is better than the night at Mrs. Elton's."
"That it is," she returned heartily. "That night was not a pleasant one to me; nor was your parting speech a pleasant one to hear."
"I am sorry that I annoyed you; did I really do so?"
"Of course you did; you were so unjust, as I have said before."
"I was horribly so, to you. And so, once more, Miss Adair, I ask you to forgive me."... He let go her hand, sprang down the stairs and into his gondola, in which he stood waving his hat to her as Jacobo pushed off, and again sang a serenade.
As the sound of the voice came fainter and fainter over the water, and at last died away, Flora murmured, "Venice!... now indeed art thou to me 'as a fairy city of the heart.'"
Flora went to the arbour, where Mrs. Adair was putting up her work; and they both returned to their rooms.... Here was another wakeful night for Flora. She could not sleep; for a soft voice seemed to whisper every now and then the words, "He loves you." But Flora was determined to be wise, and not believe so flattering a whisper; and she said to herself, "What nonsense all this is. The proud, clever Mr. Earnscliffe love me, indeed! I know too well that I have no beauty, no brilliancy in conversation, no liveliness,—nothing, in short, which could win the love of such a man. I always felt that it would be so; that one whom I could love would be so superior to me that he could not care for me.... He is the world,—life,—everything to me; and what could I be to him? Nothing, of course."... But the voice whispered on, and, listening to it, she at last fell asleep. By two o'clock the next day they were standing in the Amphitheatre of Verona, and Flora finally silenced the whisper with—"If it were anything of love he would be here now, and not in Venice."
END OF VOL. I.