It's about that poor singer, Uncle Dan; the woman we took home last
night. You remember?"

"Remember? I'm not losing my faculties, Polly!"

"Yes; of course you remember! What was I thinking of? Well, you know we
went to see her this morning, and took her those roses of Mr. Kenwick's.
Uncle Dan,--they didn't seem to meet the case!" and May looked at her
victim with the gravity of a secretary of the metropolitan board of
charities.

"That was rather hard on those particular roses," Uncle Dan observed,
with a certain grim satisfaction.

"Yes, I think it was. But,--Uncle Dan, I've thought of something much
better than roses. I'm going to sing for her!"

"Will that meet the case?" asked the Colonel, doubtfully. He too had
been wondering what could be done for the niece by marriage of
Vittorio's grandmother's--what did he say she was?

"Yes; for you see I shall be a novelty, and I sing better than she
does, and we shall take a lot of money."

"A lot of money, for singing to that woman? Polly, what are you talking
about?"

And then it was that Polly took the field, and marshalled all her
arguments, and did such valiant battle to the Colonel's dearest
prejudices and most cherished theories, that he was fairly bewildered
and demoralised.

She knew she could do it, she knew she could sing, and singing always
sounded lovely on the water. She was in splendid voice,--she had been
practising _pianissimo_, and it went like a charm. Not a soul would know
her. She was going to wear a plain black skirt and a sulphur shawl,--she
had always meant to buy a sulphur shawl,--and a lot of beads round her
neck. She was going to twist some black stuff about her hair, and then
pin the Spanish lace on in the most artistic and Italian manner.

"And you know, Uncle Dan, my hair is the most noticeable thing about me.
When that's covered up I am quite another person. And then the light
will be very dim, and so many queer colours from the swinging lanterns
that I shan't have the vestige of a complexion left!"

"But the promiscuous audience, the rough company on the barge!" the
Colonel urged, struggling but feebly against a premonition of defeat.
Already the old soldier quailed miserably before the enemy.

"They are not a rough company," Polly declared. "I asked Vittorio all
about it. He knows nearly all the men, and he says they are _galant'
uomini_. Signor Canti will be there, and he will take beautiful care of
me. Signora Canti is to ha