"But I thought you were coming down this evening to hear the band play."
"Oh, yes, but there will be such a crowd that we shall only sit at the little tables."
"Yes, and sip lemonade."
"Of course. It is Muriel's party. It is singular that we have seen her so little. But the music and the lemonade and all we shall have to say to each other—for she goes away to-morrow—will prevent my thinking much of the Piazza. Just now," and Irma half closed her eyes, "I am imagining the day when the Venetians gathered here to decide whether or not they should help the Crusaders. What a grand sight it must have been; and now, I open my eyes and see nothing but pigeons."
"Aunt Caroline," said Irma, as they glided homeward, "I like Venice better than any other place. There seem to be more really old buildings here than anywhere else. I have not tried to remember the great pictures as I did in Rome and Florence. I have a general impression of Bellini and the Vivarini, Titian and Veronese and Tintoretto, they are the great Venetian painters, but I cannot describe any one picture."
"We hardly expect a girl of your age to care for artistic details," responded Aunt Caroline, smiling. "You could probably tell more about the palaces."
"I am not sure that I could describe a single one of them, so that any one would recognize it. It is the effect of Venice as a whole that pleases me, even if it isn't just what artists paint it. The palaces are really much grayer than they look in pictures, and there are never many sails on the canal, and even down toward the Lido there is seldom one of those bright painted sails."
"Is there any other thing that falls below your expectations?"