ed obstinacy.
Yet he did not forget himself. There was nothing rude in his manner as
he said, before Hermione could reply:

"Signorina, the Signora does not know Ruffo's mother, so such things
cannot interest her. Is it not so, Signora?"

Hermione was still governed by the desire to be alone for a little while
with Ruffo, and the sensation of intense reserve--a reserve that seemed
even partially physical--that she felt towards Artois made her dislike
Ruffo's public exhibition of a gratitude that, expressed in private,
would have been sweet to her. Instead, therefore, of agreeing with Vere,
she said, in rather an off-hand way:

"It's all right, Ruffo. Thank you very much. But we must not keep Don
Emilio listening to my supposed good deeds forever. So that's enough."

Vere reddened. Evidently she felt snubbed. She said nothing, but she
shot a glance of eager sympathy at Ruffo, who stood very simply looking
at Hermione with a sort of manly deference, as if all that she said, or
wished, must certainly be right. Then she moved quietly away, pressing
her lips rather firmly together, and went slowly towards the house.
After a moment's hesitation, Artois followed her. Hermione remained by
Ruffo, and Gaspare stayed doggedly with his Padrona.

Hermione wished he would go. She could not understand his exact feeling
about the fisher-boy's odd little intimacy with them. Her instinct told
her that secretly he was fond of Ruffo. Yet sometimes he seemed to be
hostile to him, to be suspicious of him, as of some one who might do
them harm. Or, perhaps, he felt it his duty to be on guard against all
strangers who approached them. She knew well his fixed belief that she
and Vere depended entirely on him, felt always perfectly safe when he
was near. And she liked to have him near--but not just at this moment.
Yet she did not feel that she could ask him to go.

"Thank you very much for your gratitude, Ruffo," she said. "You mustn't
think--"

She glanced at Gaspare.

"I didn't want to stop you," she continued, trying to steer an even
course. "But it's a very little thing. I hope your mother is getting on
pretty well. She must have courage."

As she said the last sentence she thought it came that night oddly from
her lips.

Gaspare moved as if he felt impatient, and suddenly Hermione knew
an anger akin to Vere's, an anger she had scarcely ever felt against
Gaspare.

She did not show it at first, but went on with a sort of forced