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Then she said:
"You surely don't think the Marchese is wicked?"
"He is young, he is Neapolitan, and to-night he is mad. Vere has made
him mad."
"But Vere was only gay at dinner as any child--"
"Don't think I am blaming Vere. If she has fascination, she cannot
help it."
"What shall we do?"
"Will you let me put you into a cab? Will you wait in my room at the
hotel until I come back with Vere? I can search for her better alone.
I will find her--if she is here."
Their eyes met steadily as he finished speaking, and he saw, or
thought he saw, in hers a creeping menace, as if she had the intention
to attack or to defy him.
"I am Vere's mother," she said.
"Let me take you to a cab, Hermione."
He spoke coldly, inexorably. This moment of enforced inactivity was a
very difficult one for him. And the violence that was blazing within
him made him fear that if Hermione did not yield to his wish he might
lose his self-control.
"You can do nothing," he added.
Her eyes left his, her lips quivered.


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