s Leslie going to buy
the whole place up? I'm sick of these wealthy Jews. They're ruining
Venice. Buying all the palaces, you know. I suppose Leslie'll be wanting
to do that next. There's altogether too much buying in this forsaken
world. Why can't people admire without wanting to acquire? Lord Evelyn
can't. The squandering old fool; he's ruining himself over things he's
too blind even to look at properly. And this Leslie of yours, who can't
even appreciate, still must get and have, of course; and the more he gets
the more he wants. Can't you stop him, Peter? It's such a monstrous
exhibition of the vice of the age."

"It's not my profession to stop him," Peter said. "And, after all, why
shouldn't they? If it makes them happy--well--" His finality conveyed his
creed; if it makes them happy, what else is there? To be happy is to have
reached the goal. Peter was a little sad about Hilary, who seemed as far
as ever from that goal. Why? Peter wondered. Couldn't one be happy in
this lovable water-city, which had, after all, green ways of shadow and
gloom between the peeling brick walls of ancient houses, and, beyond, the
broad spaces of the sea? Couldn't one be happy here even if the babies
did poise muddy feet on a table-cloth, not, after all, otherwise clean;
and even if the poor boarders wouldn't pay their rent and the rich Jews
would buy palaces and plaques? Bother the vice of the age, thought Peter,
as he crossed the sun-bathed piazza and suddenly smelt the sea. There
surely never was such a jolly world made as this, which had Venice in it
for laughter and breathless wonder and delight, and her Duomo shining
like a jewel.

"An' the sun shinin' on the gilt front an' all," murmured Peter. "I call
it just sweet."

He went in (he was to meet Leslie there), and the soft dusk rippled about
him, and beyond the great pillars stretched the limitless, hazy horizons
of a dream.

Presently Leslie came. He had an open "Stones of Venice" in his hand, and
said, "Now for those mosaics." Leslie was a business-like person, who
wasted no time. So they started on the mosaics, and did them for an hour.
Leslie said, "Good. Capital," with the sober, painstaking, conscientious
appreciation he was wont to bestow on unpurchasable excellence; and Peter
said, "How jolly," and felt glad that there were some excellences
unpurchasable even by rich Jews.

They then went to the Accademia and looked at pictures. There Leslie had
a clue to merit. "A