“Come along with us,” said Patty, ignoring his show of grief. “The Venetians will let you off, I’m sure.”
“That may be, madame. But I’ve affairs of more importance than trailing an American girl all over the map of Europe.”
“I’d like to follow the trail,” said Peter Homer, “but I’ve been summoned back to London, and ‘England expects.’”
“I wish I could take you all home with me,” said Patty, enthusiastically; “you’re a lovely bunch of boys, and you’d grace any country.”
“Thank ye, ma’am,” said Floyd, as they all bowed politely.
And when they took leave, the three declared that they would be on hand next morning to conduct the Fairfield party to the railway station.
True to their word, they appeared in ample time to escort the travellers.
Several gondolas were required, and it somehow happened that Peter Homer and Patty, with one or two trunks, occupied one of them alone.
“This is as it should be,” he said, in a tone of satisfaction. “I’m glad to be with you as you see the last of Venice. But I hope we shall meet here again sometime.”
“I hope so,” said Patty, carelessly. “I suppose I shall come again,—everybody does,—but will you be here then?”