She looked at me searchingly.
“No, you are not, you are Venetian—that is it—some wicked, beautiful friend of a Doge come to life again.”
“I know I am wicked,” I said; “I am always told it, but I have not done anything yet, or had any fun out of it, and I do want to.”
She laughed again.
“Well, you must come to London with me when I leave here on Saturday, and we will see what we can do.”
This sounded so nice, and yet I had a feeling that I wanted to refuse; if there had been a tone of patronage in her voice, I would have in a minute. We sat and talked a long time, and she did tell me some interesting things. The world, she assured me, was a delightful place if one could escape bores, and had a good cook and a few friends. After a while I left her, as she suddenly thought she would come down to luncheon.
“I don’t think it would be safe, at the present stage, to leave you alone with Robert,” she said.
I was angry.
“I have promised not to play with him, is that not enough!” I exclaimed.