sufficient
beauty; the violent, exciting words flowed in her ear, amid the sound of
rising waves and the distant talk of the fishermen. His hand crushed
hers; his mad, imploring eyes repelled and constrained her. The wild
hungers and curiosities of her being rushed to meet him; she heard the
echo of her own words to Ashe: "More life--more <i>life</i>!--even though it
lead to pain--and agony--and tears!"

Then she wrenched herself away--suddenly, contemptuously.

"Of course, that's all nonsense--romantic nonsense. You've perhaps
forgotten that I am one of the women who don't stir without their maid."

Cliffe's expression changed. He thrust his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, well, if you must have a maid," he said, dryly, "that settles it. A
maid would be the deuce. And yet--I think I could find you a Bosnian
girl--strong and faithful--"

Their eyes met--his already full of a kind of ownership, tender,
confident, humorous even--hers alive with passionate anger and
resistance.

"<i>Without a qualm</i>!" she repeated, in a low voice--"without a qualm! Mon
Dieu!"

She turned and looked towards the Adriatic.

"Where are we?" she said, imperiously.

For a gesture of command on Cliffe's part, unseen by her, had sent the
boat eastward, spinning before the wind. The lagoon was no longer
tranquil. It was covered with small waves; and the roar of the outer
sea, though still far off, was already in their ears. The mist lifting
showed white, distant crests of foam on a tumbling field of water, and
to the north, clothed in tempestuous purple, the dim shapes of
mountains.

Kitty raised herself, and beckoned towards the captain of the
<i>bragozzo</i>.

"Giuseppe!"

"Commanda, Eccellenza!"

The man came forward.

With a voice sharp and clear, she gave the order to return at once to
Venice. Cliffe watched her, the veins on his forehead swelling. She knew
that he debated with himself whether he should give a counter-order or
no.

"A Venezia!" said Kitty, waving her hand towards the sailors, her eyes
shining under the tangle of her hair.

The helm was put round, and beneath a tacking sail the boat swept
southward.

With an awkward laugh Cliffe fell back into his seat, stretching his
long limbs across the boat. He had spoken under a strong and genuine
impulse. His passion for her had made enormous strides in these few wild
days beside her. And yet the fantastic poet's sense responded at a touch
to the new impression.