"Now, Ed., don't be absurd."

"There is something absurd in being kind to a person's wife, isn't
there? Well, it struck me her objection to any one else being at the
falls, when her ladyship was there, might seem--not to me, of course,
but to an outsider--a trifle selfish."

"Oh, you don't understand her at all. She has an artistic temperament,
and she is quite right in wishing to be alone. Now, Ed., when she does
come again I want you to keep anyone else from going up there. Don't
forget it, as you do most of the things I tell you. Say to anybody who
wants to go up that the canoes are out of repair."

"Oh, I can't say that, you know. Anything this side of a crime I am
willing to commit; but to perjure myself, no, not for Venice. Can you
think of any other method that will combine duplicity with a clear
conscience? I'll tell you what I'll do. I will have the canoe drawn up,
and gently, but firmly, slit it with my knife. One of the men can mend
it in ten minutes. Then I can look even the official from Quebec in the
face, and tell him truly that the canoe will not hold water. I suppose
as long as my story will hold water you and Miss Sommerton will not
mind?"

"If the canoe is ready for her when she comes, I shall be satisfied.
Please to remember I am going to spend a week or two in Boston next
winter."

"Oh ho, that's it, is it? Then it was not pure philanthropy----"

"Pure nonsense, Ed. I want the canoe to be ready, that's all."