my own canoe." And, having seen Pauline safely established
beside Mrs. Daymond, he stepped into the Colonel's boat, quite
unconscious of the scarcity of encouragement he had received.

The Colonel welcomed him the more hospitably perhaps, for a
consciousness of having been somewhat remiss at the outset. He need have
had no misgivings, however, for Kenwick was so happily constituted as to
consider a slight to himself quite inconceivable.

"It was very sweet of you to come to us," said Mrs. Daymond, as the
gondolas glided away from each other. "We particularly wanted you this
afternoon."

"I am glad of that," said Pauline, with one of her still smiles that
seemed to give out as much warmth as brightness.

They had passed the island of Santa Elena, and were upon the broad path
of the sea-going vessels, which was deserted to-day, save for one yellow
sail, yet a long way off, that stood out in full sunshine against the
quiet northern sky. The tide was coming in, though not yet strongly, and
they were avoiding the current by keeping in toward the shore of the
Lido.

Geof was rowing, with power and precision, as his habit was. It struck
Pauline that he would have been a capital gondolier; and then she
remembered that when he got her Uncle Dan talking about the war the other
day,--a feat, by the way, which few succeeded in accomplishing,--she had
thought to herself, what a superb soldier he would have made. Presently
her eye wandered from the rhythmically swaying figure at the oar to the
wide reaches of the seaward path, where the yellow sail showed, clear
and remote as a golden bugle-note, its reflection dropping like an echo,
far, far down into the depths. The other gondola had fallen back a few
lengths, as was apt to be the case.

"Did you ever wonder why your men give us the right of way?" Mrs.
Daymond asked. Her voice fell in so naturally with the dip of the oars
and the lapping of the tide against the prow, that Pauline suddenly
became aware of those pleasant sounds, which had escaped her notice till
then.

"I should suppose of course your gondola ought to go first," she
answered.

"Oh, no," Mrs. Daymond laughed; "it is not out of deference to me. It is
only because Pietro is an old man, and they don't like to hurry him.
Isn't that a pretty trait?"

"Yes, indeed! Is Pietro very old?"

"He is sixty-four. He rows as well as ever, only he hasn't quite the
endurance he used to have. He was my husband's gondolier