The sacrifice, therefore, to Fanny Meredith’s great disgust, was made. The family picked themselves up, and in solid phalanx accompanied their heiress to Italy, keeping vigilant watch and ward over her and over every possible dangerous acquaintance whom she made. But they were little prepared for the unkind stroke of Fate which brought Lennox Kyrle across their path. That his appearance in Venice was an accident they did not believe for an instant. They strongly suspected that Fanny Meredith had, together with him, planned this appearance to take place when Aimée should have been removed from her family environment. They congratulated themselves that so much, at least, had been frustrated by their foreseeing vigilance, but they had not the least doubt that Kyrle had come with the determination to secure her hand and fortune, if that desirable end could be attained by unholy arts and incredible audacity. What was to be done to frustrate and check this audacity? Such was the question the family met in solemn conclave to consider on the day after the undesirable intruder had appeared. “He is not to be shaken off easily,” said Percy Joscelyn, “for Mrs. Meredith encourages him in every way. Last night she not only invited him to join us as we sat outside Florian’s, but she proposed going out in a gondola, took him along, and made him sing. He sings uncommonly well--confound him!--and almost made love to Aimée before my eyes.” “The fellow’s impudence seems to be equal to anything!” said the major. “And how did Aimée receive his--ah--advances?” “You can never tell much about Aimée,” his son answered. “She is quiet, and she’s deep. She didn’t seem responsive, but that signifies nothing. Under ordinary circumstances I might think that he had made no impression on her; but these are not ordinary circumstances, and the trouble is that we don’t know what the extent of their first acquaintance was. Although Mrs. Berrien denied it, I shall always believe that there had been some love-making going on between them in St. Augustine.” “And yet Aimée was certainly not very attractive at that time,” observed Miss Joscelyn. “There’s no accounting for tastes,” said her brother, curtly, “and facts are facts. I _saw_ him give her a locket--something which, you know, she always declined to explain.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Joscelyn, with a sigh, “she was very obstinate and as close as wax. But I have always had an idea that he was not a lover, because, in the first place, she said so--and Aimée always told the truth--and, in the second place, because she never seemed to have any fancy for lovers, like other girls.--You know, Lydia, how often you have remarked that Aimée was so old-fashioned in this respect.”