“Well, Don Ippolito!” cried Mrs. Vervain, rising and giving him her hand, which she first waved at the trunks and bags piled up in the vacant space in the front of the boat, “what do you think of this? We are really going, immediately; _we_ can change our minds too; and I don’t think it would have been too much,” she added with a friendly smile, “if we had gone without saying good-by to you. What in the world does it all mean, your giving up that grand project of yours so suddenly?” She sat down again, that she might talk more at her ease, and seemed thoroughly happy to have Don Ippolito before her again. “It finally appeared best, madama,” he said quietly, after a quick, keen glance at Florida, who did not lift her veil. “Well, perhaps you’re partly right. But I can’t help thinking that you with your talent would have succeeded in America. Inventors do get on there, in the most surprising way. There’s the Screw Company of Providence. It’s such a simple thing; and now the shares are worth eight hundred. Are you well to-day, Don Ippolito?” “Quite well, madama.” “I thought you looked rather pale. But I believe you’re always a little pale. You mustn’t work too hard. We shall miss you a great deal, Don Ippolito.” “Thanks, madama.” “Yes, we shall be quite lost without you. And I wanted to say this to you, Don Ippolito, that if ever you change your mind again, and conclude to come to America, you must write to me, and let me help you just as I had intended to do.” The priest shivered, as if cold, and gave another look at Florida’s veiled face. “You are too good,” he said. “Yes, I really think I am,” replied Mrs. Vervain, playfully. “Considering that you were going to let me leave Venice without even trying to say good-by to me, I think I’m very good indeed.” Mrs. Vervain’s mood became overcast, and her eyes filled with tears: “I hope you’re sorry to have us going, Don Ippolito, for you know how very highly I prize your acquaintance. It was rather cruel of you, I think.” She seemed not to remember that he could not have known of their change of plan. Don Ippolito looked imploringly into her face, and made a touching gesture of deprecation, but did not speak. “I’m really afraid you’re _not_ well, and I think it’s too bad of us to be going,” resumed Mrs. Vervain; “but it can’t be helped now: we are all packed, don’t you see. But I want to ask one favor of you, Don Ippolito; and that is,” said Mrs. Vervain, covertly taking a little _rouleau_ from her pocket, “that you’ll leave these inventions of yours for a while, and give yourself a vacation. You need rest of mind. Go into the country, somewhere, do. That’s what’s preying upon you. But we must really be off, now. Shake hands with Florida--I’m going to be the last to part with you,” she said, with a tearful smile.