“The aspersion of having been on the point of eloping with you,” said Fanny, with a subdued, wicked laugh. “Yes, it was a necessity of the situation, and I will say for Aimée that she is the most generous creature I ever knew. I really can not see why you should look so indignant. Pray, do you think it such a horrible thing to have been on the point of eloping with you?” “I think,” he answered, haughtily, “that it is a shameful injustice to allow a young girl to rest under the imputation of having been about to elope with any one when she is altogether innocent of it.” “We went over all that and settled it at the time,” said Mrs. Meredith, impatiently, “and it is much too late to unsettle it now. It is ancient history--dead, buried, forgotten. Besides, no one knows anything about it except Mr. Meredith; and there is surely not much to harm Aimée in one person’s knowledge. Percy Joscelyn suspects something--you may remember that he found you with Aimée on that awfully unlucky day--but he does not _know_ anything. He will, however, look upon you as having been her lover, and the whole Joscelyn clan will be thrown into consternation by your appearance. They watch the poor child, and every man who approaches her, like so many dragons. How amusing”--with another irrepressible laugh--“it is that you should have turned up just now!” “At the cost of depriving you of some amusement,” he said, coldly, “I shall not renew my acquaintance with your cousin--if acquaintance it could be called. The last thing I am capable of is of annoying one who has already been the victim of such an injustice.” “But why should you annoy her?” inquired Fanny--whom time had evidently not robbed of any of her volatile qualities--opening her eyes. “And you don’t know, really, what you will lose. She is charming! Every one admires her immensely.” “I shall not have the opportunity of doing so,” replied Kyrle, more stiffly than ever, for he said to himself that this woman was insufferable. “I am leaving Venice almost immediately, and since I may not have the pleasure of seeing you again, I shall therefore bid you adieu--” “Not just yet,” said Fanny, with a note of malicious triumph in her voice. “Here is an old friend to whom you must speak first.--Aimée, my dear, let me recall Mr. Kyrle to your recollection.” II. Kyrle turned, full of anger, which changed in a moment by some miraculous process into satisfaction, for who should stand before him, with wondering eyes and faintly flushing cheeks, but the lovely lady of the balcony! And she was lovelier even than he had imagined, with a face in which all fine issues of thought and feeling seemed to meet. She looked surprised, yet the gentle, curving lips smiled as it were irresistibly, while she said, with the composure of a woman of the world, “I recollect Mr. Kyrle perfectly, though I should not have known him.”