down at him.

"Mick, darling," she whispered, "imagine Venice at night--the music and
the water and the romance! And just think--" her voice dropped still
lower--"just think what it would be to meet some one--any one at
all--who might happen to notice that one's clothes were new, and that
one's hair was properly done up!"

She bent down in a sudden impulse of excitement and kissed his upraised
head; then with a quick laugh at her own impetuosity, she turned and
ran down the first flight of time-worn marble steps.

That was her private and personal reception of the news. Later,
returning with her arms full of the roses that ran riot in the garden,
she was able to meet Milbanke with a demeanour of dignified calm; and
to answer his questions as to whether her boxes could be packed in two
days, in a voice that was dutifully submissive and unmoved.

But the two days of preparation were imbued with a secret joy. There
was a new and unending delight in selecting the most beautiful of the
dresses in her elaborate wardrobe, and in feeling that at last they
were to be seen by eyes that would understand their value. For
Milbanke, while never restraining her craving for costly clothes, had,
since the day of their marriage, been totally unobservant and
indifferent as to whether she wore silk or home-spun; and on the
occasions when outside opinions might have been brought to bear upon
the matter--namely, the moments when the archaeological excursions were
undertaken--necessities of season or expediency had invariably limited
her supply of garments to the clothes that would not show the dust or
the clothes that would keep out the rain. But now the prospect was
different. It was still the season in Venice; she would be justified in
bringing the best and most attractive clothes she possessed. The
thought was exhilarating; life became a thing of bustle and interest.
Two and three times a day she drove into Florence to make totally
unnecessary purchases; she wrote more than one long letter to Nance;
and indulged in many a protracted and confidential talk with Mick as
they sat together on the edge of the old marble fountain that dripped
and dozed in the sun.

By a hundred actions, obvious or obscure, she made it plain in those
days of preparation that, despite the fact that her childhood lay
behind her, and that she had known none of the intermediate pleasures
of ordinary girlhood, she was a being whose heart, whose capacity for
enjo