"You are very extravagant; you might have written it,"
said my companion.
"This looks more genuine."
"Certainly, you are prepared to go far! But it will be awkward
about your letters; they won't come to you in that mask."
"My banker will take them in, and I will go every day to fetch them.
It will give me a little walk."
"Shall you only depend upon that?" asked Mrs. Prest.
"Aren't you coming to see me?"
"Oh, you will have left Venice, for the hot months, long before
there are any results. I am prepared to roast all summer--
as well as hereafter, perhaps you'll say! Meanwhile, John Cumnor
will bombard me with letters addressed, in my feigned name,
to the care of the padrona."
"She will recognize his hand," my companion suggested.
"On the envelope he can disguise it."
"Well, you're a precious pair! Doesn't it occur to you that even if you
are able to say you are not Mr. Cumnor in person they may still suspect
you of being his emissary?"
"Certainly, and I see only one way to parry that."
"And what may that be?"
I hesitated a moment. "To make love to the niece."
"Ah," cried Mrs. Prest, "wait till you see her!"
II
"I must work the garden--I must work the garden," I said to myself,
five minutes later, as I waited, upstairs, in the long,
dusky sala, where the bare scagliola floor gleamed vaguely
in a chink of the closed shutters. The place was impressive
but it looked cold and cautious.
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