"You must come this very day," exclaimed Miss Ecks. "The Madonna
knows that we do not desire boarders, but you are amiable and
considerate, as well as financially sound and kind, and will do
admirably. Padrona Angela is very unhappy, and I cannot model
satisfactorily until the house is on a good paying basis and she is
putting money in the bank toward the payment of the mortgage. You
can order your own meals, entertain as you like, and live precisely
as if you were in your own home."

The Little Genius is small, but powerful, with a style of oratory
somewhat illogical, but always convincing at the moment. There
were a good many trifling objections to our leaving Miss Van Tyck
and the hotel, but we scarcely remembered them until we and our
luggage were skimming across the space of water that divides Venice
from our own island.

We explored the cool, wide, fragrant spaces of the old casa, with
its outer walls of faded, broken stucco, all harmonized to a
pinkish yellow by the suns and winds of the bygone centuries. We
admired its lofty ceilings, its lovely carvings and frescoes, its
decrepit but beautiful furniture, and then we mounted to the top,
where the Little Genius has a sort of eagle's eyrie, a floor to
herself under the eaves, from the windows of which she sees the
sunlight glimmering on the blue water by day, and the lights of her
adored Venice glittering by night. The walls are hung with
fragments of marble and wax and stucco and clay; here a beautiful
foot, or hand, or dimple-cleft chin; there an exquisitely ornate
facade, a miniature campanile, or a model of some ancient palazzo
or chiesa.