"I sha'n't believe you," said the doctor, "if you give my fingers such
a wring as that. Well, go to your letter, and I'll take Miss Derrick to
Venice--if she will let me."

Venice!--That exquisite photograph of the Bridge of Sighs, and "the
palace and the prison on each hand," about which such a long, long
entrancing account had been given by Mr. Linden to her--the scene and
the talk rose up before Faith's imagination; she was very ready to go
to Venice. Its witching scenery, its strange history, floated up, in a
fascinating, strange cloud-view; she was ready for Shylock and the
Rialto. Nay, for the Rialto, not for Shylock; him, or anything like
him, she had never seen nor imagined. She was only sorry that Mr.
Linden had to go to his letter; but there was a compensative side to
that, for her shyness was somewhat less endangered. With only the
doctor and Shylock to attend to, she could get along very well.

Shyness and fears however, were of very short endurance. To Venice she
went,--Shylock she saw; and then she saw nothing else but Shylock, and
those who were dealing with him; unless an occasional slight glance
towards the distant table where Mr. Linden sat at his writing, might be
held to signify that she _had_ powers of vision for somewhat else. It
did not interrupt the doctor's pleasure, nor her own. Dr. Harrison had
begun with at least a double motive in his mind; but man of the world
as he was, he forgot his unsatisfied curiosity in the singular
gratification of reading such a play to such a listener. It was so
plain that Faith was in Venice! She entered with such simplicity, and
also with such intelligence, into the characters and interests of the
persons in the drama; she relished their words so well; she weighed in
such a nice balance of her own the right and the wrong, the true and
the false, of whatever rested on nature and truth for its proper
judgment;--she was so perfectly and deliciously ignorant of the world
and the ways of it! The fresh view that such pure eyes took of such
actors and scenes, was indescribably interesting; Dr. Harrison found it
the best play he had ever read in his life. He made it convenient
sometimes to pause to indoctrinate Faith in characters or customs of
which she had no adequate knowledge; it did not hurt her pleasure; it
was all part of the play.

In the second scene, the doctor stopped to explain the terms on which
Portia had been left with her suitors.

"What do you think