lifts the cup, locks the door, goes down to the steps by the Doge's
palace--no gondola--too late, you know, so he puts the cup in his
teeth, takes a header, and swims to the yacht. When he comes alongside
they hail him, and he comes up the ladder. 'Where's your mistress?' he
asks, and they call me, and I come on deck in my pink _saut du lit_, and
there stands Bobby, the water running off him and the cup in his teeth.
'There's your bauble,' he says. (Of course he takes the cup out of his
mouth when he speaks.) 'And here's your Nora,' I say, and the boatswain
pipes all hands aft to witness the marriage ceremony. No, no, your
eminence," she laughed, "it's too good to be true. Bobby will never
steal the cup. He has never done anything in all his life but walk down
Bond Street. He's a love, but he is not energetic."

"You are doubtless right," said the cardinal, "and my fears are but the
timidity of age; still--"

The earl joined them. He had just given the sacristan ten pounds, and
had endeavored to treat the gift as a disinterested _pourboire_. He felt
that he had failed; that he had overdone it, and had made himself a
marked man. The sacristan followed him--voluble, eulogistic.

"Tommaso," said the cardinal, "this is the Earl of Vauxhall. He is to
have every privilege, every liberty. He is to be left alone if he
desires it. He is not to be bothered with attendance or suggestions. He
may use a kodak; he may handle anything in the treasury. You will regard
him as though he were myself."

Tommaso bowed low. The earl blushed.

Lady Nora looked at her watch.