"It seems as if the lagoons belonged to them, this evening, eh, Polly?"
Uncle Dan and May were standing in the balcony, watching the receding gondola. The stars were shining clear and high,—the lagoon would be strewn with them. Far away on the horizon, May could see a revolving light, coming and going, coming and going. She longed to be out.
"There's the Grand Canal," she suggested modestly.
"Yes; there's the Grand Canal. But, Polly, what do you say to making a call on the Signora?"
May turned her bright eyes to those of the old soldier, that gleamed questioningly, almost entreatingly, under the grizzly eye-brows.
"That would be very nice," she said, suppressing a little sigh of resignation.
"Good girl!" cried the Colonel. "And, look here, Polly, perhaps it's you who are to be the support of my old age, after all. Who knows?" and he cast a glance, half humorous, half reproachful, in the direction in which the gondola had disappeared. He was not yet quite reconciled to the trick fate had played him.
Then May slipped her hand inside his arm, in her own confiding way, and, looking affectionately into the seamed and seared old face, she said, with roguish sweetness: "I tell you what, Uncle Dan! We shall have to grow old together, you and I!"
THE END.
Transcriber's note:
Corrections made to text:
Page 97: changed Nannie to Nanni
Page 139: changed Siennese to Sienese