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She had
been a child. But now--she thought of the Marchesino, of Peppina, of
her conversation with Monsieur Emile in the Grotto of Virgilio, and
realized the blooming of her girlhood, was aware that she was
changing. And she felt half frightened, then eager, ardently eager. An
impulse filled her, the impulse towards a fulness of life that, till
now, she had not known. And for a moment she loved those little,
innocent secrets that she kept.
But then she thought again of her mother, the most beloved of all her
world. There had been in her mother's voice a sound of tragedy.
Vere stood for a long while by the window thinking.
The day was very hot. She longed to bathe, to wash away certain
perplexities that troubled her in the sea. But Gaspare was not on the
island. He had gone she knew not where. She looked at the sea with
longing. When would Gaspare be back? Well, at least she could go out
in the small boat. Then she would be near to the water. She ran down
the steps and embarked.


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