er russet shoes, and that it
would be very uncomfortable to sit down in such a place to take them off
and shake it out; and that, altogether, misfortunes never come singly.

After standing still three or four minutes longer, she turned away with
a discontented look in her face, all rosy with the wind and spray. She
started as she saw Corbario standing before her, for she had not heard
his footsteps in the gale. He wore his shooting-coat and heavy leathern
gaiters, but he had no gun. She thought he looked pale, and that there
was a shade of anxiety in his usually expressionless face.

"We wondered where you were," he said. "There is coffee in the verandah,
and your mother is out already."

"I came down to look at the storm," Aurora answered. "I forgot all about
breakfast."

They made a few steps in the direction of the cottage. Aurora felt that
Corbario was looking sideways at her as they walked.

"Have you seen Marcello?" he asked presently.

"Did you not meet him?" Aurora was surprised. "It is not five minutes
since he left me."

"No. I did not meet him."

"That is strange."

They went on in silence for a few moments.

"I cannot understand why you did not meet Marcello," Aurora said
suddenly, as if she had thought it over. "Did you come this way?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps he got back before you started. He walks very fast."

"Perhaps," Corbario said, "but I did not see him. I came to look for you
both."

"Expecting to find us together, of course!" Aurora threw up her head a
little disdainfully, for Marcello had offended her.

"He is generally somewhere near you, poor boy," answered Corbario in a
tone of pity.

"Why do you say 'poor boy' in that tone? Do you think he is so much to
be pitied?"

"A little, certainly." Corbario smiled.

"I don't see why."

"Women never do, when a man is in love!"

"Women"--the flattery was subtle and Aurora's face cleared. Corbario was
a man of the world, without doubt, and he had called her a woman, in a
most natural way, as if she had been at least twenty years old. It did
not occur to her to ask herself whether Folco had any object in wishing
to please her just then, but she knew well enough that he did wish to do
so. Even a girl's instinct is unerring in that; and Corbario further
pleased her by not pursuing the subject, for what he had said seemed all
the more spontaneous because it led to nothing.

"If Marcello is not in the cottage," he observed, as they came ne