n Artois, a desire to protect Vere
against her own mother.

But how could that be done?

Vere, guarded by the beautiful unconsciousness of youth, was unaware
of the subtleties that were brought into activity by her. That the
Marchesino was, or thought himself, in love with her she realized.
But she could not connect any root-sincerity with his feeling. She
was accustomed vaguely to think of all young Southern Italians as
perpetually sighing for some one's dark eyes. The air of the South was
full of love songs that rose and fell without much more meaning than a
twitter of birds, that could not be stilled because it was so natural.
And the Marchesino was a young aristocrat who did absolutely nothing of
any importance to the world. The Northern blood in Vere demanded other
things of a man than imitations of a seal, the clever driving of a
four-in-hand, light-footed dancing, and songs to the guitar. In Gaspare
she saw more reality than she saw as yet in the Marchesino. The dawning
intellect of her began to grasp already the nobility of work. Gaspare
had his work to do, and did it with loyal efficiency. Ruffo, too, had
his profession of the sea. He drew out of the deep his livelihood. Even
with the fever almost upon him he had been out by night in the storm.
That which she liked and respected in Gaspare, his perfect and natural
acceptance of work as a condition of his life, she liked and respected
in Ruffo.

On the morning after the incident with Peppina, Vere came down looking
strangely grave and tired. Her mother, too, was rather heavy-eyed, and
the breakfast passed almost severely. When it was over Hermione, who
still conducted Vere's education, but with a much relaxed vigor in the
summer months, suggested that they should read French together.

"Let us read one of Monsieur Emile's books, Madre," said Vere, with an
awakening of animation. "You know I have never read one, only two or
three baby stories, and articles that don't count."

"Yes, but Emile's books are not quite suitable for you yet, Vere."

"Why, Madre?"

"They are very fine, but they dive deep into life, and life contains
many sad and many cruel things."

"Oughtn't we to prepare ourselves for them, then?"

"Not too soon, I think. I am nearly sure that if you were to read
Emile's books just yet you would regret it."

Vere said nothing.

"Don't you think you can trust me to judge for you in this matter,
figlia mia? I--I am almost certain that Emile