“And you promised,” said Victoria, “to take me up there. When will you do it?”
“I thought you were going away,” he replied.
“Unforeseen circumstances,” she answered, “have compelled me to change my plans.”
“Then we will go tomorrow,” he said.
“To the Delectable Land,” said Victoria, dreamily; “your land, where we shall be—benevolent despots. Austen?”
“Yes?” He had not ceased to thrill at the sound of his name upon her lips.
“Do you think,” she asked, glancing at him, “do you think you have money enough to go abroad—just for a little while?”
He laughed joyously.
“I don't know,” he said, “but I shall make it a point to examine my bank-account to-night. I haven't done so—for some time.”
“We will go to Venice, and drift about in a gondola on one of those gray days when the haze comes in from the Adriatic and touches the city with the magic of the past. Sometimes I like the gray days best—when I am happy. And then,” she added, regarding him critically, “although you are very near perfection, there are some things you ought to see and learn to make your education complete. I will take you to all the queer places I love. When you are ambassador to France, you know, it would be humiliating to have to have an interpreter, wouldn't it?”