"That sounds well," Dolly answered after a pause. "I am trying to think whether there is any meaning in it."
"Certainly; or I hope so. She is placidity itself; one wonders if she could be anything but placid; while you"——
"Never mind about me," said Dolly hastily. "I am longing to know whether mother will like Venice."
"Shall you?"
"Oh, I like everything."
Which was the blissful truth. Even anxiety did not prevent its being the truth; perhaps anxiety even at times put a keener edge upon enjoyment; Dolly fled from troublesome thoughts to the beauties of a landscape, the marvels of a piece of mediaeval architecture, the bewitchment of a bit of painting from an old master's hand; and tasted, and lingered, and tasted over again in memory, all the beauty and the marvel and the bewitchment. Lawrence smiled to himself at the thought of what she would find in Venice.
"There's one thing I don't make out," Rupert broke in.
"Only one?" said Lawrence. But the other was too intent to heed him.
"It bothers me, why the people that could build such a grand church, couldn't make better houses for themselves."
"Ah!" said Lawrence. "You manage that better in America?"