re in the neighbourhood of that
organ to which is attributed so large a share in our emotional
embarrassments. And it was at this juncture that Kenwick had recourse to
a curious befooling of himself in which long practice had made him an
adept.

A sail was just passing, a deep red one, bearing the design of globe and
cross in crude outline of uncompromising black. As he regarded,
absently, that primitive religious symbol, there awoke within him a
certain phantom conscience, which was wont to play an effective part in
his elaborate process of self-mystification. To-day this facile monitor
hinted that if Geof did feel so sure of himself, it would hardly be the
part of a friend to press his own advantage too far. Geof was a good
fellow; he really had a great opinion of Oliver Kenwick's talent, and
did not hesitate to say so on occasion. It would never do to play him
any unhandsome tricks. The more unsuspicious he was, the more it
behooved Kenwick to guard his interests. Yes; he would withdraw in
Geof's favour, he would be hanged if he wouldn't!

And so it came about that by the time they were returning northward
again in the Venice steamer, Kenwick had worked himself up to a really
lofty pitch of self-sacrifice. He would go off in the Stickneys' yacht
with them to-morrow, by Jove he would! Luckily for him, he had left the
invitation open, not from any intention of accepting it, but simply
because he had never in his life burnt a bridge. A good principle that;
he would always stick to it.

As the lovely sunset light grew and deepened, Venice came up like a
vision out of the sea. The cloudless sky was tinged with yellow, and the
water rippled in molten gold up to the very side of the boat. He turned
to May, who chanced to be standing beside him, looking, with level gaze,
straight into the serene heart of the sky. She had certainly a softer,
gentler look than she used to wear. Would it deepen as he spoke?

"This is a charming ending to my visit here," he said, quietly.

"Ending?" May exclaimed, turning upon him that bright, straightforward
look with which she met every statement of fact. "Ending? Why, you are
not going away?"

"Yes; I am off with the Stickneys early to-morrow morning."

"In the _Urania_? You _are_ in luck! But why didn't you tell us before?"

"I couldn't bear to speak of it," he averred, and at the moment he
almost believed he was speaking the truth. "It costs me too much to go
away."

"Well, I don