“Darling Kitty,—­Will you join us to-night in an expedition?  You know that Princess Margherita is staying on the Grand Canal?—­in one of the Mocenigo palaces.  There is to be a serenata in her honor to-night—­not one of those vulgar affairs which the hotels get up, but really good music and fine voices—­money to be given to some hospital or other.  Do come with us.  I suppose you have your own gondola, as we have.  The gondolas who wish to follow meet at the Piazzetta, weather permitting, eight o’clock.  I know, of course, that you are not going out.  But this is only music!—­and for a charity.  One just sits in one’s gondola, and follows the music up the canal.  Send word by bearer.  Your fond mother,

     “Marguerite d’Estrees.”

Kitty tossed the note over to Ashe.  “Aren’t you dining out somewhere to-night?”

Her voice was listless.  And as Ashe lifted his head from the cabinet papers which had just reached him by special messenger, his attention was disagreeably recalled from high matters of state to the very evident delicacy of his wife.  He replied that he had promised to dine with Prince S——­ at Danieli’s, in order to talk Italian politics.  “But I can throw it over in a moment, if you want me.  I came to Venice for you, darling,” he said, as he rose and joined her on the balcony which commanded a fine stretch of the canal.

“No, no!  Go and dine with your prince.  I’ll go with maman—­Margaret and I. At least, Margaret must, of course, please herself!”

She shrugged her shoulders, and then added, “Maman’s probably in the pink of society here.  Venice doesn’t take its cue from people like Aunt Lina!”

Ashe smiled uncomfortably.  He was in truth by this time infinitely better acquainted with the incidents of Madame d’Estrees’s past career than Kitty was.  He had no mind whatever that Kitty should become less ignorant, but his knowledge sometimes made conversation difficult.

Kitty was perfectly aware of his embarrassment.

“You never tell me—­” she said, abruptly.  “Did she really do such dreadful things?”

“My dear Kitty!—­why talk about it?”

Kitty flushed, then threw a flower into the water below with a defiant gesture.

“What does it matter?  It’s all so long ago.  I have nothing to do with what I did ten years ago—­nothing!”

“A convenient doctrine!” laughed Ashe.  “But it cuts both ways.  You get neither the good of your good nor the bad of your bad.”

“I have no good,” said Kitty, bitterly.

“What’s the matter with you, miladi?” said Ashe, half scolding, half tender.  “You growl over my remarks as though you were your own small dog with a bone.  Come here and let me tell you the news.”

And drawing the sofa up to the open window which commanded the marvellous waterway outside, with its rows of palaces on either hand, he made her lie down while he read her extracts from his letters.