Farewell, Nikola | Page 2

Square must at all times be an object of absorbing interest. I have seen it at every hour, and under almost every aspect: at break of day, when one has it to oneself and is able to enjoy its beauty undisturbed; at midday, when the importunate shopkeepers endeavour to seduce one into entering their doors (by tales of the marvels therein); at sunset, when the cafes are crowded, the band plays, and all is merriment; and last, but not least, at midnight, when the moon is sailing above Saint Mark's, the square is full of strange shadows, and the only sound to be heard is the cry of a gull on the lagoon, or the "Sa Premi" of some belated gondolier.
"This is the moment to which I have looked forward all my life," said Miss Trevor, as she sat back in her chair and watched the animated crowd before her. "Look at that pretty little boy with the pigeons knocking around him. What a picture he would make if one only had a camera."
"If you care to have a photo of him one can easily be obtained," I remarked. "Any one of these enterprising photographers would be only to pleased to take one for you for a few centissimi. I regret to say that many of our countrymen have a weakness for being taken in that way."
"Fancy Septimus Brown, of Tooting," my wife remarked, "a typical English paterfamilias, with a green veil, blue spectacles, and white umbrella, daring to ask the sun to record his image with the pigeons of St. Mark's clustering above his venerable head. Can't you picture the pride of that worthy gentleman's family when they produce the album on Sunday afternoons and show it to their friends? 'This is pa,' the eldest girl will probably remark, 'when he was travelling in Venice' (as if Venice were a country in which one must be perpetually moving on), 'and that's how the pigeons came down to be fed. Isn't it splendid of him?' Papa, who has never ventured beyond Brighton beach before, will be a person of importance from that moment."
"You forget one circumstance, however," Miss Trevor replied, who enjoyed an argument, and for this reason contradicted my wife on principle, "that in allowing himself to be taken at all, Brown of Tooting has advanced a step."
For the moment he dared to throw off his insularity, as the picture at which you are laughing is indisputable testimony. Do you think he would dare to be photographed in a similar fashion in his own market-place, standing outside his shop-door with his assistants watching him from behind the counter? I am quite sure he would not!"
"A very excellent argument," I answered. "Unfortunately, however, it carries its own refutation. The mere fact that Brown takes the photograph home to show to his friends goes a long way towards proving that he is still as insular as when he set out. If he did not consider himself of sufficient importance to shut out a portion of Saint Mark's with his voluminous personality, he would not have employed the photographer at all, in which case we are no further advanced than before."
These little sparring-matches were a source of great amusement to us. The Cockney tourist was Miss Trevor's bete noir. And upon this failing my wife and I loved to twit her. On the whole I rather fancy she liked being teased by us.
We had finished our coffee and were still idly watching the people about us when I noticed that my wife had turned a little pale. I was about to remark upon it, when she uttered an exclamation as if something had startled her.
"Good gracious! Dick," she cried, "surely it is not possible. It must be a mistake."
"What is it cannot be possible?" I inquired, "What do you think you see?"
I glanced in the direction she indicated, but could recognise no one with whom I was acquainted. An English clergyman and his daughter were sitting near the entrance to the cafe, and some officers in uniform were on the other side of them again, but still my wife was looking in the same direction and with an equally startled face. I placed my hand upon her arm. It was a long time since I had seen her so agitated. "Come, darling," I said, "tell me what it is that troubles you."
"Look," she answered, "can you see the table to the right of that at which those officers are seated?" I was about to reply in the affirmative, but the shock I received deprived me of speech. The person to whom my wife had referred had risen from his chair, and was in the act of walking towards us. I looked at him, looked away, and then looked again. No! there was