"There shall be no difference in me. No one is to know that anything
has happened."
At that moment she was a fanatic. And she looked like one as she came
down upon the sand.
"I'm afraid I'm rather late--Gaspare."
It was difficult to her to say his name. But she said it firmly.
"Signora, it is nearly three o'clock."
"Half-past two. No, I can get in all right."
He had put out his arm to help her into the boat. But she could not
touch him. She knew that. She felt that she would rather die at the
moment than touch or be touched by him.
"You might take away your arm."
He dropped his arm at once.
Had she already betrayed herself?
She got into the boat and he pushed off.
Usually he sat, when he was rowing, so that he might keep his face
towards her. But to-day he stood up to row, turning his back to her.
And this change of conduct made her say to herself again:
"Have I betrayed myself already?"
Fiercely she resolved to be and to do the impossible. It was the only
chance.
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