“Then we are a nice _partie carrée_, and we will go at once,” said she, rising and taking a shawl from the back of her chair. No one inquired how far Mr. Meredith approved of the arrangement. He was left smoking a cigar in front of the _café_, while the _partie carrée_ proceeded to the Riva in search of a gondola. As was to be expected, Percy took possession of Aimée, while Lennox found himself walking by the side of his old love. Neither of them spoke for a minute or two; then Fanny turned and glanced at him with a mischievous smile. “Time has its recompenses as well as its revenges occasionally,” she said. “Are you meditating on that?” He looked at her and was forced to return her smile. “You are as full of _diablerie_ as ever,” he said, “but if you have no sense of compassion, have you not any compunction?” “Compassion!--compunction! What fine, large words! But why should I have either?” she asked. “You do not need compassion, I am sure; and as for compunction--you could not expect me to be sorry _now_?” “Certainly not,” he answered, with alacrity. “Regret for what has resulted so well would be entirely out of place--for you, that is. For me, however--” “Are you trying to insinuate that you have any regret?” said she, with a laugh. “Ah, that pretense is shallow! I have had such long experience that I can tell, the moment that I look into a man’s eyes, whether he feels the smallest bit of sentiment; and you--as far as I am concerned--you have not enough to put on the point of a pin! Do you think it strange of me to talk in this way?”--He did think so, and his face no doubt betrayed as much. “But I have a reason. I want you to understand that I am not under any foolish delusion about you, as some women would be. I am anxious that you should trust me, and let me be your friend.” “Pray believe that I trust you entirely,” said Lennox--who did not trust her at all. “But a friend--I am much honored; yet I do not know that I have special need of a friend at present.” “You will never have greater need,” said she, emphatically, “for you have fallen in love with Aimée, and, unless I am your friend, the Joscelyns will not suffer you even to speak to her.” “I can well believe that,” said he, involuntarily. Then he paused and laughed. “But have I fallen in love with the young lady whose name is so suggestive of that emotion?” he asked. “You are the person to answer the question,” replied Fanny; “but I should say there was no doubt of it. I have been watching you for the last hour, and the entire scheme has matured beautifully in my mind.” He looked at her again--curious, interested, uncertain what to make of her. The pretty, piquant face he had once known so well, was full of animation and amusement as she turned it toward him, meeting his puzzled glance. “You are ungrateful,” she said; “you do not trust me; and yet I am anxious to do you a great service.”