Presently Vere spoke again.
"Would you like me to come with you to Mergellina, Madre?" she said.
Her voice was rather uneven, almost trembling.
"Oh no, Vere!"
Hermione spoke hastily, abruptly, strongly conscious of the
impossibility of taking Vere with her. Directly she had said the words
she realized that they must have fallen on Vere like a blow. She
realized this still more when she looked quickly up and saw that
Vere's face was scarlet.
"I don't mean that I shouldn't like to have you with me, Vere," she
added, hurriedly. "But--"
"It's all right, Madre. Well, I've finished. I think I shall go out a
little in my boat."
She went away, half humming, half singing the tune of the Mergellina
song.
Hermione put down her cup. She had not finished her coffee, but she
knew she could not finish it. Life seemed at that moment utterly
intolerable to her. She felt desperate, as a nature does that is
forced back upon itself by circumstances, that is forced to be, or to
appear to be, traitor to itself.
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