The young lady blushed resentfully. “I see as little romance as joke in it,” she said. “It was a cannon,” returned Ferris, without taking any notice of her, and with a sort of absent laugh, “that would make it very lively for the Southerners--if they had it. Poor fellow! I suppose he came with high hopes of me, and expected me to receive his invention with eloquent praises. I’ve no doubt he figured himself furnished not only with a passport, but with a letter from me to President Lincoln, and foresaw his own triumphal entry into Washington, and his honorable interviews with the admiring generals of the Union forces, to whom he should display his wonderful cannon. Too bad; isn’t it?” “And why didn’t you give him the passport and the letter?” asked Mrs. Vervain. “Oh, that’s a state secret,” returned Ferris. “And you think he won’t do for our purpose?” “I don’t indeed.” “Well, I’m not so sure of it. Tell me something more about him.” “I don’t know anything more about him. Besides, there isn’t time.” The gondola had already entered the canal, and was swiftly approaching the hotel. “Oh yes, there is,” pleaded Mrs. Vervain, laying her hand on his arm. “I want you to come in and dine with us. We dine early.” “Thank you, I can’t. Affairs of the nation, you know. Rebel privateer on the canal of the Brenta.” “Really?” Mrs. Vervain leaned towards Ferris for sharper scrutiny of his face. Her glasses sprang from her nose, and precipitated themselves into his bosom. “Allow me,” he said, with burlesque politeness, withdrawing them from the recesses of his waistcoat and gravely presenting them. Miss Vervain burst into a helpless laugh; then she turned toward her mother with a kind of indignant tenderness, and gently arranged her shawl so that it should not drop off when she rose to leave the gondola. She did not look again at Ferris, who resisted Mrs. Vervain’s entreaties to remain, and took leave as soon as the gondola landed. The ladies went to their room, where Florida lifted from the table a vase of divers-colored hyacinths, and stepping out upon the balcony flung the flowers into the canal. As she put down the empty vase, the lingering perfume of the banished flowers haunted the air of the room. “Why, Florida,” said her mother, “those were the flowers that Mr. Ferris gave you. Did you fancy they had begun to decay? The smell of hyacinths when they’re a little old is dreadful. But I can’t imagine a gentleman’s giving you flowers that were at all old.” “Oh, mother, don’t speak to me!” cried Miss Vervain, passionately, clasping her hands to her face. “Now I see that I’ve been saying something to vex you, my darling,” and seating herself beside the young girl on the sofa, she fondly took down her hands. “Do tell me what it was. Was it about your teachers falling in love with you? You know they did, Florida: Pestachiavi and Schulze, both; and that horrid old Fleuron.”