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Miss Stickney looked gratified, and Kenwick felt himself once more in his element. May Beverly, meanwhile, had been frankly delighted with the roses. So enchanting did she find them, indeed, that she had merely glanced at the card, and had tossed it into the waste-paper basket without looking at the reverse side.
Mark's Rest," said Kenwick. "You're getting enlightened about the pillars." "It's very interesting," Pauline declared. "You know he tells us to have our gondola moored over here, and read what he has to say. Doesn't everybody do it?" "Well, I don't think you'll ever find San Giorgio fringed with gondolas," Kenwick mocked; "but I'm sure it shows a beautiful spirit in those who do come.
Kenwick would like that," queried Pauline, who, in spite of an inborn loyalty to the absent, was not ill-pleased with the suggestion. "I don't believe he would mind," said May, as she plunged the beautiful things up to their necks in the water-pitcher; "he has probably forgotten, by this time, that he ever sent them."
Like many athletic men, he had a gift for looking outrageously lazy. At Kenwick's retort, he turned from the contemplation of San Giorgio, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and folding his hands behind his head, bestowed an amiable grin upon his astute friend. He wondered just why Kenwick found it worth while to dissemble.
Geoffry Daymond's companion meanwhile was paying his respects to Pauline and the Colonel, who were old acquaintances. "May, you have never met Mr. Kenwick, I think," said Pauline. "Oh, yes, I have," May declared; "but it was ages ago and he never would take any notice of me." "Do let me make up for it now," Kenwick begged, rapidly setting his palette, by way of elucidating his request.
From the start, Kenwick had succeeded in engaging May's attention, having resort to the same means which had already proved efficacious. At his suggestion they had each brought a sketchbook, and, during the trip of several hours, they jotted down desultory notes of the passing scene.
"Good," May agreed, promptly giving Ruskin the go-by. "And why don't you come in our gondola? You don't want all that clutter going about with you." "I'm afraid if we don't go home and brush up, we shall have the appearance of a clutter in your boat," said Geof. "Speak for yourself," Kenwick protested.
"My dear fellow," Kenwick retorted, "you may be a very decent architect, but I'll be hanged if you have the first inkling of what art means." From which interchange of amenities, the average listener might not have inferred, what was nevertheless true, that the two men had a high opinion of each other's talents.
"I'm afraid I shouldn't succeed as well with you," he remarked. "I wouldn't try, if I were you," Pauline laughed; "I can't get even a photograph that my friends will accept. Have you any good portrait of your mother?" "No; Kenwick tried her two years ago, but it wasn't a go." "Of course not." "Why, of course not?" "Yes; why, of course not?" Kenwick demanded.
The eager interest with which she listened to his suggestions, the quick intelligence with which she acted upon them. And Pauline, sitting with Geof a little apart from the others, tried in vain to take herself to task for leaving Kenwick so entirely to his own devices. She supposed she understood her sister too well to have any anxiety on her account.
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