But the patience of three of them was tried, before they fairly emerged from the canal, and across a broader water saw the lines of building and the domes of Venice before them.
"You'll soon be out of the gondola now, mother, dear," said Dolly delightedly. For the rain clouds had lifted a little, and the wide spread of the lagoon became visible, as well as the dim line of the city; and Dolly's heart grew big. Mrs. Copley's was otherwise.
"I'll never get into one again," she said, referring to the gondolas. "I don't like it. I don't feel as if I was anywhere. There's another,—there's two more. Are they all painted black?"
"It is the fashion of Venetian gondolas."
"Well! there is nothing like seeing for yourself. I always had an idea gondolas were something romantic and pretty. Is the water deep here?"
"No, very shallow," Lawrence assured her.
"It looks just as if it was deep. I wouldn't have come to Venice if I had known what a forlorn place it is."
But who shall tell the different impression on Dolly's mind, when the city was really reached and the gondola entered one of those narrow water-ways between rows of palaces. The rain had begun to come down again, it is true; a watery veil hung over the buildings, drops plashed busily into the canal; there were no beautiful effects of sunlight and shadow; and Lawrence himself declared it was a miserable coming to Venice. But Dolly was in a charmed state. She noted eagerly every strange detail; bridges, boats, people; was hardly sorry for the rain, she found so much to delight her in spite of it.
"What's our man making such noises for?" cried Mrs. Copley.
"Just to give warning before he turns a corner," Lawrence explained, "lest he should run against another gondola."