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twenty days or so that they will stay at the Villa Esmeralda?
Or by the day, or by the week?’
Connie and Hilda considered. In Venice, it is always
preferable to have one’s own gondola, as it is preferable to
have one’s own car on land.
’What is there at the Villa? what boats?’
’There is a motor-launch, also a gondola. But—’ The BUT
meant: they won’t be your property.
’How much do you charge?’
It was about thirty shillings a day, or ten pounds a week.
’Is that the regular price?’ asked Hilda.
’Less, Signora, less. The regular price—’
The sisters considered.
’Well,’ said Hilda, ‘come tomorrow morning, and we will
arrange it. What is your name?’
His name was Giovanni, and he wanted to know at what
time he should come, and then for whom should he say he
was waiting. Hilda had no card. Connie gave him one of
hers. He glanced at it swiftly, with his hot, southern blue
eyes, then glanced again.
’Ah!’ he said, lighting up. ‘Milady! Milady, isn’t it?’
’Milady Costanza!’ said Connie.
He nodded, repeating: ‘Milady Costanza!’ and putting
the card carefully away in his blouse.
The Villa Esmeralda was quite a long way out, on the
edge of the lagoon looking towards Chioggia. It was not a
very old house, and pleasant, with the terraces looking sea-
wards, and below, quite a big garden with dark trees, walled
in from the lagoon.