She hung over the marble balustrade in
silence, looking at the crescent moon that was just peering over the
eastern palaces of the canal. "My husband is in politics, you know. He's
Home Secretary."
"Yes, I heard. Do you help him?"
"No--just the other thing."
Kitty lifted up a pebble and let it drop into the water.
"I don't know what you mean by that," said Alice Wensleydale, coldly.
"If you don't help him you'll be sorry--when it's too late to be sorry."
"Oh, I know!" said Kitty. Then she moved restlessly. "I must go in.
Good-night." She held out her hand.
Lady Alice took it.
"Good-night. And remember!"
"I sha'n't want anybody," said Kitty. "
Addio!" She waved her hand, and
Alice Wensleydale, whose way lay towards the Piazza, saw her disappear,
a small tripping shadow, between the high, close-piled houses.
Kitty was in so much excitement after this conversation that when she
reached the Campo San Maurizio, where she should have turned abruptly to
the left, she wandered awhile up and down the campo, looking at the
gondolas on the Traghetto between it and the Accademia, at the Church of
San Maurizio, at the rising moon, and the bright lights in some of the
shop windows of the small streets to the north.
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