he replied. "I will take care of the Signora
and the Signorina."

The Marchesino turned away and jumped into the second carriage with
Emilio, realizing angrily that his gold piece would avail him nothing.

As they drove off Artois drew out some small square bits of paper.

"Here's your ticket for the enclosure," he said, giving one to the
Marchesino.

"Grazie. But we must walk about. We must show the ladies the fun in the
Mercato. It is very dull to stay all the evening in the enclosure."

"We will do whatever they like, of course."

"Keep close to the other carriage! Do you hear?" roared the Marchesino
to the coachman.

The man jerked his head, cracked his whip, pulled at his horse's mouth.
They shot forward at a tremendous pace, keeping close by the sea at
first, then turning to the left up the hill towards the Piazza del
Plebiscito. The Marchesino crossed his legs, folded his arms, and
instinctively assumed the devil-may-care look characteristic of the
young Neapolitan when driving through his city.

"Emilio," he said, after a moment, looking at Artois out of the corners
of his eyes without moving his head, "when I was at the island the other
day, do you know whom I saw in the house?"

"No."

"A girl of the town. A bad girl. You understand?"

"Do you mean a girl with a wounded cheek?"

"Yes. How can the Signora have her there?"

"The Signora knows all about her," said Artois, dryly.

"She thinks so!"

"What do you mean?"

"If the Signora really knew, could she take such a girl to live with the
Signorina?"

The conversation was rapidly becoming insupportable to Artois.

"This is not our affair," he said.

"I do not say it is. But still, as I am a Neapolitan, I think it a pity
that some one does not explain to the Signora how impossible--"

"Caro mio!" Artois exclaimed, unable to endure his companion's obvious
inclination to pose as a protector of Vere's innocence. "English ladies
do not care to be governed. They are not like your charming women. They
are independent and do as they choose. You had much better not bother
your head about what happens on the island. Very soon the Signora may be
leaving it and going away from Naples."

"Davvero?"

The Marchesino turned right round in the little carriage, forgetting his
pose.

"Davvero? No. I don't believe it. You play with me. You wish to frighten
me."

"To frighten you! I don't understand what you mean. What can it matter
to you? You scarc