"You really won't come, Madre?"
"No. But--tell me if you see the light."
The girl nodded, and the door moved into its place, shutting out the
wind.
Then the Marchesino sat down and looked at his damp patent-leather
boots.
He really could not comprehend these English ladies. That Vere was
greatly attracted by him he thoroughly believed. How could it be
otherwise? Her liveliness he considered direct encouragement. And then
she had gone out to the terrace after dinner, leaving her mother. That
was to make him follow her, of course. She wanted to be alone with
him. In a Neapolitan girl such conduct would have been a declaration.
A Neapolitan mother would not have allowed them to sit together on the
terrace without a chaperon. But the English mother had deliberately
remained within and had kept Caro Emilio with her. What could such
conduct mean, if not that the Signorina was in love with him, the
Marchesino, and that the Signorina's mamma was perfectly willing for
him to make love to her child?
And yet--and yet?
There was something in Vere that puzzled him, that had kept him
strangely discreet upon the terrace, that made him silent and
thoughtful now.
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