his
dinner, Vere."

"Yes, yes, of course. The Marchese is all right."

She stood by the door with her bright, expressive eyes fixed on her
mother. Her dark hair had been a little roughened by the breeze from
Ischia, and stuck up just above the forehead, giving to her face an odd,
almost a boyish look.

"What is it, Vere?"

"And when is Monsieur Emile coming? Didn't he say?"

"No. He suggested to-morrow, but when I told him the Marchese was coming
he said he wouldn't."

As Hermione said this she looked very steadily at her child. Vere's eyes
did not fall, but met hers simply, fearlessly, yet not quite childishly.

"I don't wonder," she said. "To tell the truth, Madre, I can't see how a
man like the Marchesino could interest a man like Monsieur Emile--at any
rate, for long. Well--" She gave a little sigh, throwing up her pretty
chin. "A letto si va!"

And she vanished.

When she had gone Hermione thought she too would go to bed. She was very
tired. She ought to go. Yet now she suddenly felt reluctant to go, and
as if the doings of the day for her were not yet over. And, besides, she
was not going to sleep well. That was certain. The dry, the almost sandy
sensation of insomnia was upon her. What was the matter with Gaspare
to-night? Perhaps he had had a quarrel with some one at Mergellina. He
had a strong temper as well as a loyal heart.

Hermione went to a window. The breeze from Ischia touched her. She
opened her lips, shut her eyes, drank it in. It would be delicious to
spend the whole night upon the sea, like Ruffo. Had he gone yet? Or was
he in the boat asleep, perhaps in the Saint's Pool? How interested
Vere was in all the doings of that boy--how innocently, charmingly
interested!

Hermione stood by the window for two or three minutes, then went out
of the room, down the stairs, to the front door of the house. It was
already locked. Yet Gaspare had not come up to say good-night to her.
And he always did that before he went to bed. She unlocked the door,
went out, shut it behind her, and stood still.

How strangely beautiful and touching the faint noise of the sea round
the island was at night, and how full of meaning not quite to be
divined! It came upon her heart like the whisper of a world trying to
tell its secret to the darkness. What depths, what subtleties, what
unfailing revelations of beauty, and surely, too, of love, there were
in Nature! And yet in Nature what terrible indifference there was