I asked her no questions, keeping the conversation on purpose
away from her domestic situation and the things I wanted to know;
I poured treasures of information about Venice into her ears,
described Florence and Rome, discoursed to her on the charms
and advantages of travel. She reclined, receptive, on the deep
leather cushions, turned her eyes conscientiously to everything
I pointed out to her, and never mentioned to me till sometime
afterward that she might be supposed to know Florence better
than I, as she had lived there for years with Miss Bordereau.
At last she asked, with the shy impatience of a child, "Are we
not really going to the Piazza? That's what I want to see!"
I immediately gave the order that we should go straight;
and then we sat silent with the expectation of arrival.
As some time still passed, however, she said suddenly, of her
own movement, "I have found out what is the matter with my aunt:
she is afraid you will go!"

"What has put that into her head?"

"She has had an idea you have not been happy. That is why
she is different now."

"You mean she wants to make me happier?"

"Well, she wants you not to go; she wants you to stay."

"I suppose you mean on account of the rent," I remarked candidly.

Miss Tita's candor showed itself a match for my own.
"Yes, you know; so that I shall have more."