’No case is hopeless till a man consents to think it is; and I shall stay.’

‘But then again, Nevil, you have not consulted your uncle.’

‘Let him see her! let him only see her!’

Rosamund Culling reserved her opinion compassionately.  His uncle would soon be calling to have him home:  society panted for him to make much of him and here he was, cursed by one of his notions of duty, in attendance on a captious ’young French beauty, who was the less to be excused for not dismissing him peremptorily, if she cared for him at all.  His career, which promised to be so brilliant, was spoiling at the outset.  Rosamund thought of Renee almost with detestation, as a species of sorceress that had dug a trench in her hero’s road, and unhorsed and fast fettered him.

The marquis was expected immediately.  Renee sent up a little note to Mrs. Calling’s chamber early in the morning, and it was with an air of one-day-more-to-ourselves, that, meeting her, she entreated the English lady to join the expedition mentioned in her note.  Roland had hired a big Chioggian fishing-boat to sail into the gulf at night, and return at dawn, and have sight of Venice rising from the sea.  Her father had declined; but M. Nevil wished to be one of the party, and in that case
  . . ? . . .  Renee threw herself beseechingly into the mute
interrogation, keeping both of Rosamund’s hands.  They could slip away only by deciding to, and this rare Englishwoman had no taste for the petty overt hostilities.  ‘If I can be of use to you,’ she said.

’If you can bear sea-pitching and tossing for the sake of the loveliest sight in the whole world,’ said Renee.

‘I know it well,’ Rosamund replied.

Renee rippled her eyebrows.  She divined a something behind that remark, and as she was aware of the grief of Rosamund’s life, her quick intuition whispered that it might be connected with the gallant officer dead on the battle-field.

‘Madame, if you know it too well . . .’ she said.

‘No; it is always worth seeing,’ said Rosamund, ’and I think, mademoiselle, with your permission, I should accompany you.’

‘It is only a whim of mine, madame.  I can stay on shore.’

‘Not when it is unnecessary to forego a pleasure.’

‘Say, my last day of freedom.’

Renee kissed her hand.

She is terribly winning, Rosamund avowed.  Renee was in debate whether the woman devoted to Nevil would hear her and help.

Just then Roland and Nevil returned from their boat, where they had left carpenters and upholsterers at work, and the delicate chance for an understanding between the ladies passed by.

The young men were like waves of ocean overwhelming it, they were so full of their boat, and the scouring and cleaning out of it, and provisioning, and making it worthy of its freight.  Nevil was surprised that Mrs. Culling should have consented to come, and asked her if she really wished it—­really; and ‘Really,’ said Rosamund; ‘certainly.’