sions of Venice. And yet if into such a circle Love had forced his way, let him take his way! Let him widen the circle! Transcendent Venice! I rose to my feet with a violent movement, and walked ten steps away. I came back and flung myself again on the grass.
"The other day at Vicenza," I said, "I bought a picture."
"Ah? An 'original'?"
"No, a copy."
"From whom?"
"From you!"
She blushed. "What do you mean?"
"It was a little pretended Correggio; a Madonna and Child."
"Is it good?"
"No, it's rather poor."
"Why, then, did you buy it?"
"Because the Madonna looked singularly like you."
"I'm sorry, Mr Brooke, you hadn't a better reason. I hope the picture was cheap."
"It was quite reason enough. I admire you more than any woman in the world."
She looked at me a moment, blushing again. "You don't know me."
"I have a suspicion of you. It's ground enough for admiration."
"O, don't talk about admiration. I'm tired of it all beforehand."
"Well, then," said I, "I'm in love."
"Not with me, I hope."
"With you, of course. With whom else?"
"Has it only just now occurred to you?"
"It has just occurred to me to say it."
Her blush had deepened a little; but a genuine smile came to its relief. "Poor Mr. Brooke!" she said.
"Poor Mr. Brooke indeed, if you take it in that way."
"You must forgive me if I doubt of your love."
"Why should you doubt?"
"Love, I fancy, doesn't come in just this way."
"It comes as it can. This is surely a very good way."
