The siren sounded. They
were off, cutting swiftly through the oily sea.
"A storm, Signora. Cloaks and umbrellas!" said the Marchesino, shooting
a glance of triumph at "Cara Emilio," whose presence to witness his
success completed his enjoyment of it. "But it is a perfect night. Look
at the sea. Signorina, let me put the cushion a little higher behind
you. It is not right. You are not perfectly comfortable. And everything
must be perfect for you to-night--everything." He arranged the cushion
tenderly. "The weather, too! Why, where is the storm?"
"Over Ischia," said Artois.
"It will stay there. Ischia! It is a volcano. Anything terrible may
happen there."
"And Vesuvius?" said Hermione, laughing.
The Marchesino threw up his chin.
"We are not going to Vesuvius. I know Naples, Signora, and I promise
you fine weather. We shall take our coffee after dinner outside upon
the terrace at the one and only Frisio's."
He chattered on gayly. His eyes were always on Vere, but he talked
chiefly to Hermione, with the obvious intention of fascinating the
mother in order that she might be favorably disposed towards him, and
later on smile indulgently upon his flirtation with the daughter.
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