"Do you like my cap?" asked the little old white-haired lady and, looking down to see if his waistcoat was not too creased, the old gentleman said that it was the daintiest cap that he had ever seen. "Poor John will be very shy," she continued, as she sat down and tried to fold her hands in her lap as though she were at ease. "John! shy!" The old gentleman laughed at the idea of it and kissed her wrinkled cheek to hide his excitement. John, shy! He remembered the days of his own love-making. He had never been shy. It was like an accusation against himself. Besides, what woman worth her salt would have anything to do with the love-making of a man who was shy? John, shy! He straightened his waistcoat for the second time, because it was getting near the moment of their arrival, the kettle was nearly boiling, and he was beginning to feel just a little bit embarrassed. "Did John say when they were going to be married?" he asked presently. "Oh, but you mustn’t say that to him!" she cried out quickly. "Why, he told me that he would never see her again. He said that they were friends--just friends. But d’you think I can’t guess! Why has she come to Venice? She must have known he was here. Oh, he’ll tell nothing about it. We must just treat her as if she were a friend. But----" She shook her head knowingly, not caring to finish her sentence. Of course, she guessed it all--their meeting in the chapel--their meeting in Kensington Gardens! A young man and a young woman do not meet like that, unless it be that there is some good reason for it. Besides--that last candle! What woman could fail to fall in love with a man, who had thought of such a gentle consideration as that, even letting alone the fact that that man was her son? There are some things in this world which a woman knows and it is not the faintest use trying to contradict her. To begin with, she is bound to be right, and secondly, if it were possible to prove her wrong, it would only convince her the more firmly of her opinion. The old lady knew quite well what she was talking about. These two were as fondly in love with each other as it was possible for them to be. Their meeting here in Venice, after John had assured her that they were never going to see each other again, was all the proof that she needed of it. And with this knowledge held firmly in the heart of her, she was already pre-disposed to see those signs by which, in spite of all their cleverness, two people are bound in this predicament to show their hands. At last the bell clanged loudly. Its jangling hammered like echoes beating to and fro against the walls of their hearts. The old lady set straight her cap for the twentieth time; for the twentieth time, the old gentleman pulled down his waistcoat, then he crept to the door and looked out into the big room. "Claudina’s going!" he whispered back over his shoulder. "She’s opened the door. Yes--it’s John!"