She hobbled away without waiting for an answer, and Lydia and her aunt got into their gondola. “_Oh_! How glad I am!” cried Mrs. Erwin, in a joyful flutter. “She's the very tip-top of the English here; she has a whole palace, and you meet the very best people at her house. I was afraid when you were singing, Lydia, that they would think your voice was too good to be good form,--that's an expression you must get; it means everything,--it sounded almost professional. I wanted to nudge you to sing a little lower, or different, or something; but I couldn't, everybody was looking so. No matter. It's all right now. If _she_ liked it, nobody else will dare to breathe. You can see that she has taken a fancy to you; she'll make a great pet of you.” “Who is she?” asked Lydia, bluntly. “Lady Fenleigh. Such a character,--so eccentric! But really, I suppose, very hard to live with. It must have been quite a release for poor Sir Fenleigh.” “She didn't seem in mourning,” said Lydia. “Has he been dead long?” “Why, he isn't dead at all! He is what you call a grass-widower. The best soul in the world, everybody says, and very, very fond of her; but she couldn't stand it; he was _too_ good, don't you understand? They've lived apart a great many years. She's lived a great deal in Asia Minor,--somewhere. She likes Venice; but of course there's no telling how long she may stay. She has another house in Florence, all ready to go and be lived in at a day's notice. I wish I had presented you! It did go through my head; but it didn't seem as if I _could_ get the Blood out. It _is_ a fearful name, Lydia; I always felt it so when I was a girl, and I was _so_ glad to marry out of it; and it sounds so terribly American. I think you must take your mother's name, my dear. Latham is rather flattish, but it's worlds better than Blood.” “I am not ashamed of my father's name,” said Lydia. “But you'll have to change it some day, at any rate,--when you get married.” Lydia turned away. “I will be called Blood till then. If Lady Fenleigh--” “Yes, my dear,” promptly interrupted her aunt, “I know that sort of independence. I used to have whole Declarations of it. But you'll get over that, in Europe. There was a time--just after the war--when the English quite liked our sticking up for ourselves; but that's past now. They like us to be outlandish, but they don't like us to be independent. How did you like the sermon? Didn't you think we had a nicely-dressed congregation?” “I thought the sermon was very short,” answered Lydia. “Well, that's the English way, and I like it. If you get in all the service, you _must_ make the sermon short.” Lydia did not say anything for a little while. Then she asked, “Is the service the same at the evening meeting?” “Evening meeting?” repeated Mrs. Erwin. “Yes,--the church to-night.” “Why, child, there isn't any church to-night! What _are_ you talking about?” “Didn't uncle--didn't Mr. Erwin say he would go with us to-night?”