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"
Hermione could not help laughing, though she did not feel gay.
"I should not have danced," said Vere. "I could not. I should have had
to watch the storm."
She was peering out of the cabin window at the wild foam that leaped
up round the little craft and disappeared in the darkness. There was
no sensation of fear in her heart, only a passion of interest and an
odd feeling of triumph.
To dance with the Marchesino at the Scoglio di Frisio would have been
banal in comparison with this glorious progress through the night in
the teeth of opposing elements. She envied Gaspare, who was outside
with the sailors, and whose form she could dimly see, a blur against
the blackness. She longed to take off her smart little hat and her
French frock, and be outside too, in the wind and the rain.
"It is ridiculous to be dressed like this!" she said, quickly, taking
off the glove she had put on her left hand. "You poor Marchese!"
She looked at his damp "smoking," his soaking gloves and deplorable
expression, and could not repress a little rush of laughter.


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