“Gracious, Kitty, where do you get all these stories from?” cried Ashe, when the chatter paused for a moment.

He looked at her with delight, rejoicing in her gayety, the slight touches of white which to-day for the first time relieved the sombreness of her dress, the return of her color.  And Margaret wondered again how much of it was rouge.

At the Armenian convent a handsome young monk took charge of them.  As George Sand and Lamennais had done before them, they looked at the printing-press, the garden, the cloister, the church; they marvelled lazily at the cleanliness and brightness of the place; and finally they climbed to the library and museum, and the room close by where Byron played at grammar-making.  In this room Ashe fell suddenly into a political talk with the young monk, who was an ardent and patriotic son of the most unfortunate of nations, and they passed out and down the stairs, followed by Margaret French, not noticing that Kitty had lingered behind.

Kitty stood idly by the window of Byron’s room, thinking restlessly of verses that were not Byron’s, though there was in them, clothed in forms of the new age, the spirit of Byronic passion, and more than a touch of Byronic affectation—­thinking also of the morning’s telegram.  Supposing Darrell’s prophecy, which had seemed to her so absurd, came true, that the book did William harm, not good—­that he ceased to love her—­that he cast her off?...

...  A plash of water outside, and a voice giving directions.  From the lagoon towards Malamocco a gondola approached.  A gentleman and lady were seated in it.  The lady—­a very handsome Italian, with a loud laugh and brilliant eyes—­carried a scarlet parasol.  Kitty gave a stifled cry as she drew back.  She fled out of the room and overtook the other two.

“May we go back into the garden a little?” she said, hurriedly, to the monk who was talking to William.  “I should like to see the view towards Venice.”

William held up a watch, to show that there was but just time to get back to the Piazza, for lunch.  Kitty persisted, and the monk, understanding what the impetuous young lady wished, good-naturedly turned to obey her.

“We must be very quick!” said Kitty.  “Take us please, to the edge, beyond the trees.”

And she herself hurried through the garden to its farther side, where it was bounded by the lagoon.

The others followed her, rather puzzled by her caprice.

“Not much to be seen, darling!” said Ashe, as they reached the water—­“and I think this good man wants to get rid of us!”

And, indeed, the monk was looking backward across the intervening trees at a party which had just entered the garden.

“Ah, they have found another brother!” he said, politely, and he began to point out to Kitty the various landmarks visible, the arsenal, the two asylums, San Pietro di Castello.

The new-comers just glanced at the garden apparently, as the Ashes had done on arrival, and promptly followed their guide back into the convent.