At the end of that week came a letter from Willie Vereker, saying his yacht needed some repairs, and he would put in at Genoa for a few days if his mother could meet him there. He had been to the East, and she had not seen him for some time; so she decided on going back to Genoa; hoping the _Gwendoline_ might need more repairing than Willie thought, and keep him there longer than he expected. The evening of the day Mrs Vereker received that letter, I told her of my love for her niece, and asked permission to accompany them to Genoa. She regarded me with an odd look of compassion. 'Have you spoken to Mary yet?' she asked. I told her I had not; I wished to wait until we had known each other longer; I feared being too precipitate. 'Then,' said Mrs Vereker, 'I have no right to tell you anything of her story. It is a sad one, poor child! and I warn you, you have little chance of success. If you choose, you can come with us to Genoa; but if I were you, I should not do so. Save yourself while you can. You have known her a very short time. If you leave us now, you will soon forget her; later, you may find it a more difficult task.' I shook my head. The advice came too late. I went with them to Genoa. The stately marble city had a charm for us all. Mrs Vereker had her son, and the two found marvellous attractions in the quaint narrow streets with their palace portals, their courts and halls, where fountains sparkled and flung diamonds of spray round the brows of pure fair statues; where in the coolness and the shadow, gold-laden orange trees and thick masses of crimson blossom gleamed with sudden startling glory. I had my idol. Day after day I was by her side. It was a fool's Paradise perhaps; but I suppose there is such an Eden in every life; and looking back, when we have left its short-lived peace, we vainly long for a single throb of its rapture. So, during those quiet days at Genoa, each of us, except Mary Mayne, had our heart's desire: Willie, the life, the colour, the loveliness he and his _Gwendoline_ sought in voyages to many lands; Mrs Vereker, her son; I, my new delirious joy. There, on the terrace where we were standing, I first spoke to Mary, and heard her tell me my love was hopeless. She told me her story.