calmness
and deliberation, a touch even perhaps of obstinacy that was meant for
Gaspare.

"I am interested in your mother, you know, although I have not seen her.
Tell me how she is."

Gaspare opened his lips to speak, but something held him silent; and
as he listened to Ruffo's carefully detailed reply, delivered with the
perfect naturalness of one sure of the genuine interest taken in his
concerns by his auditors, his large eyes travelled from the face of the
boy to the face of his Padrona with a deep and restless curiosity. He
seemed to inquire something of Ruffo, something of Hermione, and then,
at the last, surely something of himself. But when Ruffo had finished,
he said, brusquely:

"Signora, it is getting very late. Will not Don Emilio be going? He will
want to say good-night, and I must help him with the boat."

"Run and see if Don Emilio is in a hurry, Gaspare. If he is I'll come."

Gaspare looked at her, hesitating.

"What's the matter?" she exclaimed, her secret irritation suddenly
getting the upper hand in her nature. "Are you afraid that Ruffo will
hurt me?"

"No, Signora."

As Vere had reddened, he reddened, and he looked with deep reproach
at his Padrona. That look went to Hermione's heart; she thought, "Am I
going to quarrel with the one true and absolutely loyal friend I have?"
She remembered Vere's words in the garden about Gaspare's devotion to
her, a devotion which she felt like a warmth round about her life.

"I'll come with you, Gaspare," she said, with a revulsion of feeling.
"Good-night, Ruffo."

"Good-night, Signora."

"Perhaps we shall see you to-morrow."

She was just going to turn away when Ruffo bent down to kiss her hand.
Since she had given charity to his mother it was evident that his
feeling for her had changed. The Sicilian in him rose up to honor her
like a Padrona.

"Signora," he said, letting go her hand. "Benedicite e buon riposo."

He was being a little whimsical, was showing to her and to Gaspare that
he knew how to be a Sicilian. And now he looked from one to the other to
see how they took his salutation; looked gently, confidentially, with a
smile dawning in his eyes under the deference and the boyish affection
and gratitude.

And again it seemed to Hermione for a moment that Maurice stood there
before her in the night. Her impulse was to catch Gaspare's arm, to say
to him, "Look! Don't you see your Padrone?"

She did not do this, but she did turn impulsiv