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She did not see him. She was looking straight before her.
"Ah-ah! Ah-ah!"
A shower of objurgations in the Neapolitan dialect fell upon Artois
from the box of a carriage coming up the hill. He jumped back and
gained the path. There again he stood still. The sweet and half-
melancholy vagueness had quite left him now. The sight of his friend
had swept it away. Why was she going to Mergellina at that hour? And
why did she look like that?
And he thought of the expression he had seen on her face as the tram
slipped by, an expression surely of excitement; but also a furtive
expression.
Artois had seen Hermione in all her moods, and hers was a very
changeful face. But never before had he seen her look furtive. Nor
could he have conceived it possible that she could look so.
Perhaps the lights had deceived him. And he had only seen her for an
instant.
But why was she going to Mergellina?
Then suddenly it occurred to him that she might be going to Naples,
not to Mergellina at all.


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