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Updated: June 12, 2025
"But I'll take you home in my gondola," it appeared to him providentially provided for this contingency; "it is here at the Piazzetta." "Oh, have you a gondola, and is it as much of a help as people say? Mrs. Merrithew hates walking, but we didn't know if we should like it."
Whatever he did thereafter he had this additional incentive, the future meeting with a tall, lithe girl with dark-brown hair and gray eyes brave, deep eyes, and slightly swarthy cheeks, which were crimson as she spoke to him. Daniel Merrithew was one of the Merrithews of a town near Boston, a prime old seafaring family.
"A mighty bad stumbling-block; a mighty bad stumbling-block if the navy has revolted, Captain Merrithew. If this Government falls, it means a great deal to me; means the loss of considerable money and prestige. I must look to you to land those guns, Captain." Dan did not reply, but gazed earnestly toward the city as though meditating a dash.
Merrithew, "but me to go with her." "Not," she added, "that I'm complainin'. Merrithew left me well off, and there's no denyin' travellin's improvin' to the mind, though at my age it's some wearin' to the body. I'm glad," she further confided to Peter at Torcello, "she takes so to Venice. It's a lot more comfortable goin' about in a gondola. At Rome, now, I nearly run my legs off."
But there, I must not think of that, must I?" She turned to Dan and smiled bravely. "No, you must not," he said gravely. "He is a man; he will bear his grief like a man. And when you return " "When I return?" interpolated the girl, quickly. "Have you thought about that, Daniel Merrithew?" "Not a great deal, except to resolve that if I ever get ashore I shall never again go to sea as a sailor."
Merrithew, on the other hand, standing tall and broad-shouldered, looking about him as he talked, with quick, observant glances; a face weather-beaten, but not rough, a typical Anglo-Saxon fighting face, but kindly withal; certainly not truculent.
"That is saying a great deal," smiled Dan. "When we get ashore and you are comfortably installed as queen of your father's drawing-room and Dan Merrithew is " An exclamation from the girl interrupted him. "Dan Merrithew, don't you dare!" "And Dan Merrithew is just a " She had risen, and before he could complete the sentence her hands were pressed tightly over his mouth.
"More personal and convincing," the girl maintained. "There's one in the Belle Arti that's a lot better looking to my notion," contributed Mrs. Merrithew. "Oh, but that Princess is running away," the girl protested. "It's what any well brought up young female would be expected to do under the circumstances," declared the elder lady; "just look at them fragments. It's enough to turn the strongest."
On such occasions when Peter and Mrs. Merrithew talked apart, the good lady who got on excellently with the rich Mr. Weatheral grew more than communicative on the subject of Savilla Dassonville. It was not that she talked of the girl so much nor so freely, but that she left him with the sense of her own exasperation at the whole performance.
She had never been a snob; she was simply considering facts. And she did not want him to be aloof. "Captain Merrithew," she said in a tone designed to draw him and the others into general conversation, "Ralph Mr. Oddington, has been saying things again about my favorite cousin Percy Walton."
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