bout your youth. You meant me, you meant us both,
to say how young you are."

She spoke gayly, laughingly, but he felt she was cleverly and secretly
trying to smooth things out, to cover up the difficulty that had
intruded itself into their generally natural and simple relations.

"And your mother says nothing," said Artois, trying to fall in with her
desire, and to restore their wonted liveliness. "Don't you look upon me
as almost a boy, Hermione?"

"I think sometimes you seem wonderfully young," she said.

Her voice suggested that she wished to please him, but also that she
meant what she said. Yet Artois had never felt his age more acutely than
when she finished speaking.

"I am a poor companion for Vere," he said, almost bitterly. "She ought
to be with friends of her own age."

"You mean that I am a poor companion for you, Monsieur Emile. I often
feel how good you are to put up with me in the way you do."

The gayety had gone from her now, and she spoke with an earnestness
that seemed to him wonderfully gracious. He looked at her, and his eyes
thanked her gently.

"Take Emile out in the boat, Vere," Hermione said, "while I read a book
till dinner time."

At that moment she longed for them to be gone. Vere looked at her
mother, then said:

"Come along, Monsieur Emile. I'm sorry for you, but Madre wants rest."

She led the way out of the room.

Hermione was on the sofa. Before he followed Vere, Artois went up to her
and said:

"You are sure you won't come out with us, my friend? Perhaps the air on
the sea would do you good."

"No, thank you, Emile; I really think I had better stay quietly here."

"Very well."

He hesitated for a moment, then he went out and left her. But she had
seen a question in his eyes.

When he had gone, Hermione took up a book, and read for a little while,
always listening for the sound of oars. She was not sure Vere and Emile
would go out in the boat, but she thought they would. If they came out
to the open sea beyond the island it was possible that she might hear
them. Presently, as she did not hear them, she got up. She wanted to
satisfy herself that they were at sea. Going to the window she looked
out. But she saw no boat, only the great plain of the radiant waters.
They made her feel alone--why, she did not know then. But it was really
something of the same feeling which had come to her long ago during her
first visit to Sicily. In the contemplation of beauty she knew