’And now, four o’clock!  There is no help for it, my dear Eustace.  I must go and instruct Caterina how not to poison us in our dinner to-night.  She looks a dear old soul, but totally innocent of anything but Italian barbarities in the way of cooking.  And Felicie also is well-meaning but ignorant, so, unless I wish to have Paul on my hands for a week, I must be off.  This rough picnicking life, in Venice of all places, is a curious little experience; but I made up my mind last time we were here that we would venture our precious selves in no more hotels.  The heat, the mosquitoes, the horrors of the food, were too much.  Here we have a garden, a kitchen, a cool sitting-room; and if I choose to feed Paul on tisane and milk-puddings, who is to prevent me?

’....Paul has just come in, with victory written on his brow.  The English consul was of no use; but, as he was strolling home, he went into St. Mark’s, and there, of course, found them!  In the church were apparently all the English people who have as yet ventured to Venice; and these, or most of them, seemed to be following in the wake of a little party of four persons—­two ladies, a gentleman, and a lame girl walking with a crutch.  An excited English tourist condescended to inform Paul that it was “the great English actress, Miss Bretherton,” who was creating all the commotion.  Then, of course, he went up to her—­he was provoked that he could hardly see her in the dim light of St. Mark’s—­introduced himself, and described our perplexities.  Of course, she had written.  I expected as much.  Jacques must certainly be pensioned off!  Paul thought the other three very inferior to her, though the uncle was civil, and talked condescendingly of Venice as though it were even good enough to be admired by a Worrall.  It is arranged that the beauty is to come and see me to-morrow if, after Caterina has operated upon us during two meals, we are still alive.  Good-night, and good-bye.’

* * * * *

’VENICE, August 7.

’Well, I have seen her!  It has been a blazing day.  I was sitting in the little garden which separates one half of our rooms from the other, while Caterina was arranging the dejeuner under the little acacia arbour in the centre of it.  Suddenly Felicie came out from the house, and behind her a tall figure in a large hat and a white dress.  The figure held out both hands to me in a cordial, un-English way, and said a number of pleasant things, rapidly, in a delicious voice; while I, with the dazzle of the sun in my eyes so that I could hardly make out the features, stood feeling a little thrilled by the advent of so famous a person.  In a few moments, however, as it seemed to me, we were sitting, under the acacias, she was helping me to cut up the melon and arrange the figs, as if we had known one another for months, and I was experiencing one of those sudden rushes of liking which, as you know, are a weakness of mine.  She stayed and took her meal with its.  Paul, of course, was fascinated, and for once has not set her down as a reputation surfaite.