“And your father is the fisherman yonder?”
“Yes,—but,” with a look of pride, “he's got the biggest boat of any.”
“And only you and your family are ashore here?”
“Yes, and sometimes Mark.” She laughed an odd little laugh.
“Mark? Who's he?” he asked quickly.
He had not noticed the sudden coquettish pose and half-affected bashfulness of the girl; he was thinking only of the possibility of detection by strangers.
“Oh, he is Marco Franti, but I call him 'Mark.' It's the same name, you know, and it makes him mad,” said the girl, with the same suggestion of archness and coquetry.
But all this was lost on Jarman.
“Oh, another Italian,” he said, relieved. She turned away a little awkwardly when he added, “But you haven't told me YOUR name, you know.”
“Cara.”