Stuart Harley said so himself in his last book of
foreign travel; but he sends me out on it just the same, and expects
me to be satisfied. Perhaps he thinks I like that sort of American.
If he does, he's got more imagination than he ever showed in his
books."
"You must get to the other side in some way," said Mrs. Corwin. "It
is at Venice that the trouble with Balderstone is to come, and that
Osborne topples him over into the Grand Canal, and rescues you from
his baleful influence."
"Humph!" said Marguerite, with a scornful shrug of her shoulders.
"Robert Osborne! A likely sort of person to rescue me from anything!
He wouldn't have nerve enough to rescue me from a grasshopper if he
were armed to the teeth. Furthermore, I shall not go to Venice in
August. It's bad enough in April--damp and hot--the home of malaria-
-an asylum for artistic temperaments; and insecty. No, my dear aunt,
even if I overlook everything else to please Mr. Harley, he'll have
to modify the Venetian part of that story, for I am determined that
no pen of his shall force me into Italy at this season.
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