and criticism, which he, as a practised artist had always at command, succeeded in arousing in the young girl an enthusiasm for the work, and an appreciation of his own mastery of his craft, which could not but be gratifying and stimulating to him. In truth she had never liked him so well, and, having on her part nothing to conceal, she was as outspoken in her gratitude as in all things else.
At the end of the third afternoon May had completed the best sketch she had ever done. Just as she was putting the finishing stroke to it, a gondola went gliding by, an old and shabby one, and in the tall figure at the stern she recognized Nanni. An indefinable shadow crept over the bright elation of a moment previous, and she stopped painting.
"That old tub of your Nanni's is about ready for the crematory," Kenwick observed, as he too began putting up his traps.
"The crematory?" she repeated, absently.
