`No, I'm not sorry,' she told herself. `I am glad. Poor Polly! It's no wonder she feels nervous after all she has gone through. I hope I wasn't cross to her! And it will be very nice to have Lieutenant Worthington to take care of us as far as Genoa.
The next three days were full of work. There was no more floating in gondolas, except in the way of business. All the shopping which they had put off must be done, and the trunks packed for the voyage. Everyone recollected last errands and commissions; there was continual corning and going and confusion, and Amy, wild with excitement, popping up every other moment in the midst of it all, to demand of everybody if they were not glad that they were going back to America.
Katy had never yet bought her gift for old Mrs Redding. She had waited, thinking continually that she should see something more tempting still in the next place they went to, but now, with the sense that there were to be no more `next places', she resolved to wait no longer, and with a hundred francs in her pocket, set forth to choose something from among the many tempting things for sale in the Piazza. A bracelet of old Roman coins had caught her fancy one day in a bric-à-brac shop, and she walked straight towards it, only pausing by the way to buy a pale blue iridescent pitcher at Salviate's for Cecy Slack, and see it carefully rolled in seaweed and soft paper.
The price of the bracelet was a little more than she expected, and quite a long process of bargaining was necessary to reduce it to the sum she had to spend. She had just succeeded, and was counting out the money, when Mrs Ashe and her brother appeared, having spied her from the opposite side of the Piazza, where they were choosing last photographs at Naga's. Katy showed her purchase and explained that it was a present, `for of course I should never walk out in cold blood and buy a bracelet for myself,' she said, with a laugh.
`This is a fascinating little shop,' said Mrs Ashe. `I wonder what is the price of that queer old chatelaine with the bottles hanging from it.'
The price was high, but Mrs Ashe was now tolerably conversant with shopping Italian, which consists
chiefly of a few words repeated many times over, and it lowered rapidly under the influence of her troppo's
and
`If you have done your shopping now, Polly, can't you come out for a last row?'
`Katy may, but I can't,' replied Mrs Ashe. `The man promised to bring me gloves at six o'clock, and I must be there to pay for them. Take her down to the Lido, Ned. It's an exquisite evening for the water, and the sunset promises to be delicious. You can take the time, can't you, Katy?'
Katy could.
Mrs Ashe turned to leave them, but suddenly stopped short.
`Katy, look! Isn't that a picture?'
The `picture' was Amy, who had come to the Piazza with Mrs Swift, to feed the doves of St Mark's, which was one of her favourite amusements. These pretty birds are the pets of all Venice, and so accustomed to being fondled and made much of by strangers that they are perfectly tame. Amy, when her mother caught sight of her, was sitting on the marble pavement, with one on her shoulder, two perched on the edge of her lap, which was full of crumbs, and a flight of others circling round her head. She was looking up and calling them in soft tones. The sunlight caught the little downy curls on her head and made them glitter. The flying doves lit on the pavement, and crowded round her, their pearl and grey and rose-tinted and white feathers, their scarlet feet and gold-ringed eyes, making a shifting confusion of colours, as they hopped and fluttered and cooed about the little maid, unstartled even by her clear laughter. Close