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Then he came
back, on the way stopping to get into his jersey.
Vere sat down on a narrow seat let into the rock close to the sun-
patch. She was nursing the dolce on her knee.
"You won't have it?" she asked.
He gave her his usual negative, again stepping full into the sun.
"Well, then, I shall eat it. You say a dolce is for women!"
"Si, Signorina," he answered, quite seriously.
She began to devour it slowly, while the boy drew the cigarette smoke
into his lungs voluptuously.
"And you are only sixteen?" she asked.
"Si, Signorina."
"As young as I am! But you look almost a man."
"Signorina, I have always worked. I am a man."
He squared his shoulders. She liked the determination, the resolution
in his face; and she liked the face, too. He was a very handsome boy,
she thought, but somehow he did not look quite Neapolitan. His eyes
lacked the round and staring impudence characteristic of many
Neapolitans she had seen. There was something at times impassive in
their gaze.


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