Vittorio knew at a glance that she came from the rookeries and that he, the scion of a noble family, should look higher for his mate, but that made no difference. She was built for him and he was built for her, and that was the end of it: not for an intrigue--he was not constructed along those lines--but with a ring and a priest and all the rest of it. The main difficulty was to find some one who knew her. He would not,--could not, confront her; nor would he follow her home; but something must be done, and at once: a conclusion, it will be admitted, than an incalculable number of young Vittorios have reached, sooner or later, the world over. When, therefore, a rumor came to his ears that Luigi the Primo was protecting her--the kind of protection that could never be misunderstood in Luigi's case--a piece of news which his informer was convinced would end the projected intrigue of the young gondolier, then and there and for all time, Vittorio laughed so loud and so long, and so merrily, that he lost, in consequence, two fares to San Giorgio, and came near being reprimanded by the Gastaldo for his carelessness. That was why late one afternoon (I was painting the sunset glow) just as Loretta reached the edge of the quay on her way home, a young fellow, in white duck with a sash of dark red silk binding and hanging from his waist and a rakish straw hat tipped over his handsome face, shot his gondola alongside mine and leaned over to whisper something in Luigi's ear. And that was why the girl in her long black shawl stopped, and why Luigi immediately changed gondolas and made for the quay, and why they all talked together for a moment, the girl flashing and the boy beaming, and that was why, too, they all three disappeared a moment later in the direction of the high rookery where lived the baffled, love-sick Francesco, his anxious father, the much-talked-about mother, and the Rose of the Shipyards. In a garden where the soil is so rich that a seedling of five--a mere slip--blooms into flower before a foolish old painter can exhaust the subjects along the canal, it is not surprising that a love affair reaches its full growth between two suns. Not since the day she had tumbled into the canal had she gone so headover-heels--both of them. Nor did Luigi pull them out. He helped in the drowning, really. He was talking to himself when he came back--a soft light in his eyes, a smile lingering around the corners of his up-turned, grizzled mustache. "It is good to be young, Signore, is it not?" was all he said, and at once began bundling up my traps. Before the week was out,--nay, before the setting of two suns--every gossip along the Riva--and they about covered the population--had become convinced that Loretta was lost to the Quarter. Unless a wedding ring was to end it all Vittorio would never be so bold in his attentions to Loretta, as to walk home with her nights and wait for her mornings.