ve all the proceeds beyond a certain sum that
the others will agree upon."

"The thing seems pretty well settled between you and your _gallant
hominies_," growled Uncle Dan, trying to be severe.

"No; it's all settled in my own mind, but I haven't breathed a word of
it to anybody but you. And of course you have got to say yes, before I
shall take any steps!"

Superficially regarded, this seemed like a concession; but the Colonel
knew better. "You have got to say yes!" To his ears it sounded like the
fiat of inexorable fate, and he only gazed, with a look of comical
deprecation at the youthful orator who was gesticulating with the lace
_fichu_, to the destruction of its carefully laid folds.

"Polly, your father would not listen to such a thing for a moment," he
jerked out, getting very red in the face.

"But he won't have to; he never need know a word about it!" Alas, that
was a line of reasoning that struck a responsive chord.

"But Polly would never consent."

"That's the beauty of it! She's safely out of the way."

"And Mrs. Daymond,--she would be shocked, I am sure," and his fine
colour faded with consternation.

"Not if she never knows it!"

"But I shall know it," he protested, faintly. Then, gathering himself
together for a last effort:

"No, Polly, I can never consent. Never! You understand! It's useless to
talk about it!" and the Colonel got upon his feet and stepped out upon
the balcony, breathing fire and slaughter to all revolutionary schemes.
And then Polly knew that she had won the day. When Uncle Dan grew
emphatic and peremptory it was a sure sign that he was weakening.

She followed him out upon the balcony, and slipped her hand within his
arm.

"O, Uncle Dan," she said, in her most insinuating tone. "You haven't the
least idea how I shall sing! You never heard anything so fine as it will
be. I shall sing, so that all the gondolas will come gliding up to
listen. And there will be the moon sailing up the sky, and the world
will be so big and so dark that I can let my voice out without a thought
of myself, and--O Uncle Dan! say yes!"

Then a slow, intense flush mounted in the sun-burnt cheek, while a light
kindled in the eyes, set deep within the bushy eye-brows. And Uncle Dan
looked into the ardent face beside him, and, before he could stop
himself, he had exclaimed, half under his breath:

"Gad, Polly! But I should like to hear you!"

XVII

The Serenata

From the moment whe