The defection of William only left Kitty, it seemed, still more greedy of things to see and do. Innumerable sacristans opened all possible doors and unveiled all possible pictures. Bellini succeeded Tintoret, and Carpaccio Bellini. The two sable gondoliers wore themselves out in Kitty's service, and Margaret's kind, round face grew more and more puzzled and distressed. And whence this strange impression that the whole experience was a _flight_ on Kitty's part?--or, rather, that throughout it she was always eagerly expecting, or eagerly escaping from some unknown, unseen pursuer? A glance behind her--a start--a sudden shivering gesture in the shadows of dark churches--these things suggested it, till Margaret herself was caught by the same suppressed excitement that seemed to be alive in Kitty. Did it all point merely to some mental state--to the nervous effects of her illness and her loss? When they reached home about five o'clock, Kitty was naturally tired out. Margaret put her on the sofa, gave her tea, and tended her, hoping that she might drop asleep before dinner. But just as tea was over, and Kitty was lying curled up, silent and white, with that brooding look which kept Margaret's anxiety about her constantly alive, there was a sudden sound of voices in the anteroom outside. "Margaret!" cried Kitty, starting up in dismay--"say I'm not at home." Too late! Their smiling Italian housemaid threw the door open, with the air of one bringing good-fortune. And behind her appeared a tall lady, and an old gentleman hat in hand. "May we come in, Kitty?" said Mary Lyster, advancing. "Cousin Elizabeth told us you were here." Kitty had sprung up. The disorder of her fair hair, her white cheeks, and the ghostly thinness of her small, black-robed form drew the curious eyes of Sir Richard. And the oddness of her manner as she greeted them only confirmed the old man's prejudice against her. However, greeted they were, in some sort of fashion; and Miss French gave them tea. She kept Sir Richard entertained, while Kitty and Mary conversed. They talked perfunctorily of ordinary topics--Venice, its sights, its hotels, and the people staying in them--of Lady Tranmore and various Ashe relations. Meanwhile the inmost thought of each was busy with the other. Kitty studied the lines of Mary's face and the fashion of her dress. "She looks much older. And she's not enjoying her life a bit. That's my fault. I spoiled all her chances with Geoffrey--and she knows it. She _hates_ me. Quite right, too." "Oh, you mean that nonsensical thing last night?" Sir Richard was saying to Margaret French. "Oh no, I didn't go. But Mary, of course, thought she must go. Somebody invited her." Kitty started. "You were at the serenata?" she said to Mary. "Yes, I went with a party from the hotel." Kitty looked at her. A sudden flush had touched her pale cheeks, and she could not conceal the trembling of her hands. "That was marvellous, that light on the Salute, wasn't it?"