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As he stared at Vere with adoring eyes suddenly there came into his
mind the question: "Who has taught her?"
And then he thought of the night when all in vain he had sung upon the
sea, while the Signorina and "un Signore" were hidden somewhere near
him.
The blood sang in his head, and something seemed to expand in his
brain, to press violently against his temples, as if striving to force
its way out. He put down his coffee cup, and the two perpendicular
lines appeared above his eyebrows, giving him an odd look, cruel and
rather catlike.
"If Emilio--"
At that moment he longed to put a knife into his friend.
But he was not sure. He only suspected.
Hermione's role in this summer existence puzzled him exceedingly. The
natural supposition in a Neapolitan would, of course, have been that
Artois was her lover. But when the Marchesino looked at Hermione's
eyes he could not tell.
What did it all mean? He felt furious at being puzzled, as if he were
deliberately duped.


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