signed no peculiar virtue to the
moonlight, and he had no new charge to give her concerning his patient
when they were embarked. He seemed to wish her to talk about herself,
and when she strayed from the topic, he prompted her return. Then he
wished to know how she liked Florence, as compared with Venice, and all
the other cities she had seen, and when she said she had not seen any
but Boston and New York, and London for one night, he wished to know
whether she liked Florence as well. She said she liked it best of all,
and he told her he was very glad, for he liked it himself better than
any place he had ever seen. He spoke of his family in America, which
was formed of grownup brothers and sisters, so that he had none of the
closest and tenderest ties obliging him to return; there was no reason
why he should not spend all his days in Florence, except for some brief
visits home. It would be another thing with such a place as Venice; he
could never have the same settled feeling there: it was beautiful, but
it was unreal; it would be like spending one's life at the opera. Did
not she think so?

She thought so, oh, yes; she never could have the home-feeling at Venice
that she had at Florence.

"Exactly; that's what I meant--a home-feeling; I'm glad you had it." He
let the gondola dip and slide forward almost a minute before he added,
with an effect of pulling a voice up out of his throat somewhere, "How
would you like to live there--with me--as my wife?"

"Why, what do you mean, Dr. Welwright?" asked Clementina, with a vague
laugh.

Dr. Welwright laughed, too; but not vaguely; there was a mounting
cheerfulness in his laugh. "What I say. I hope it isn't very
surprising."

"No; but I never thought of such a thing."

"Perhaps you will think of it now."

"But you're not in ea'nest!"

"I'm thoroughly in earnest," said the doctor, and he seemed very much
amused at her incredulity.

"Then; I'm sorry," she answered. "I couldn't."

"No?" he said, still with amusement, or with a courage that took that
form. "Why not?"

"Because I am--not free."

For an interval they were so silent that they could hear each other
breathe: Then, after he had quietly bidden the gondolier go back to
their hotel, he asked, "If you had been free you might have answered me
differently?"

"I don't know," said Clementina, candidly. "I never thought of it."

"It isn't because you disliked me?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then I must get what comfort I