any Neapolitans she
had seen. There was something at times impassive in their gaze. In shape
they were long, and slightly depressed at the corners by the cheeks, and
they had full, almost heavy, lids. The features of the boy were small
and straight, and gave no promise of eventual coarseness. He was
splendidly made. When Vere looked at him she thought of an arrow. Yet he
was very muscular, and before he dived she had noticed that on his arms
the biceps swelled up like smooth balls of iron beneath the shining
brown skin.

"What month were you born in?" she asked.

"Signorina, I believe I was born in March. I believe I was sixteen last
March."

"Then I am older than you are!"

This seemed to the boy a matter of indifference, though it was evidently
exercising the girl beside him. She had finished the dolce now, and he
was smoking the last fraction of an inch of the cigarette, economically
determined to waste none of it, even though he burnt his fingers.

"Have another cigarette," Vere added, after a pause during which she
considered him carefully. "You can't get anything more out of that one."

"Grazie, Signorina."

He took it eagerly.

"Do tell me your name, won't you?" Vere went on.

"Ruffo, Signorina."

"Ruffo--that's a nice name. It sounds strong and bold. And you live at
Mergellina?"

"Si, Signorina. But I wasn't born there. I wasn't born in Naples at
all."

"Where were you born?"

"In America, Signorina, near New York. I am a Sicilian."

"A Sicilian, are you!"

"Si, Signorina."

"I am a little bit Sicilian, too; only a little tiny bit--but still--"

She waited to see the effect upon him. He looked at her steadily with
his long bright eyes.

"You are Sicilian, Signorina?"

"My great-grandmother was."

"Si?"

His voice sounded incredulous.

"Don't you believe me?" she cried, rather hotly.

"Ma si, Signorina! Only--that's not very Sicilian, if the rest is
English. You are English, Signorina, aren't you?"

"The rest of me is. Are you all Sicilian?"

"Signorina, my mother is Sicilian."

"And your father, too?"

"Signorina, my father is dead," he said, in a changed voice. "Now I live
with my mother and my step-father. He--Patrigno--he is Neapolitan."

There was a movement in the boat. The boy looked round.

"I must go back to the boat, Signorina," he said.

"Oh, must you?" Vere said. "What a pity! But look, they are really still
asleep."

"I must go back, Signorina," he proteste