“That was the intention,” Chick grinned back. He had, he told her, arrived in Naples two days ago, had promptly wired Nancy to find Cynthia’s exact address and had been told of the train she would take to Venice. “Neat, very neat!” approved Cynthia. “If I just hadn’t taken a local by mistake. And now where are you taking me?” “Pensione Casa Petrarca?” She nodded, Yes, that was where she had reserved a room. “Had your breakfast? Good. Then wash and tidy up and we’ll do a bit of sightseeing. After that. ...” Quietly he slipped his hand from hers, slid it into his pocket. “Oh dear, Chick, what’s the matter, what is it?” “I’ve ... that is I seem to have. ...” And with the maddening masculine manner of one blessed with many pockets started fumbling through them all, one after another. “Lost something?” Chick frowned. “Gone. But I hope it’s not lost.” Deliberately he went through the whole lot again while the gondola rocked gently before the steps of the pensione. At last he shrugged. “I came out last night and this morning with a gondolier named Luigi, from the traghetta, that’s a sort of gondola taxi-stand, across the way. If I’ve dropped the thing, it’ll probably be in his gondola. Go on up, will you? I’ll see if I can trace him.” A big airy room with a quaint porcelain stove in the corner. As the door closed behind the porter, Cynthia dropped into a chair and dragged off her hat. She didn’t know whether to weep or to laugh. Was she, or was she not, engaged to Chick? He hadn’t mentioned it, he hadn’t acted like it. She decided to laugh and felt better. Washed her face, ran a comb through her curls and felt better yet. A bit of powder, some rouge and she was ready to meet the world again, or at least Venice and Chick. He was waiting for her by the pensione steps. “Know any Italian?” he asked anxiously. “Not much, I’m afraid, Chick.” But, she thought, probably more than he did. “Well, come see if you can make anything out of this jumble of talk. I’m about cuckoo. We’ll walk across, it’s a good chance to see the Rialto bridge.” This was of stone, lined with a shallow, stepped, series of shops on either side, going up, going down till one reached the farther side of the Grand canal. Here Chick pointed out the row of gondolas as the taxi-rank from which he had taken Luigi. Cynthia stammered a few questions, listened to the voluble replies and managed to make out that Luigi had gone some where with a sightseeing party, probably to one of the islands. He’d be back later in the day. “This morning?” asked Chick anxiously. “I guess so.” Cynthia was slightly careless about that. Funny of Chick, not like him to make such a fuss over some silly little souvenir he’d bought. “Come on,” she put a hand on his arm, “let’s go sight-see for a while.”