“And are you going without a boatman, Flurry?” Asked her aunt
“Of course we are. Two are quite cargo enough in that small skiff, and I trust I am as skilful a pilot as any Ortese fisherman,” broke in Calvert.
“Oh, I never disputed your skill, Mr. Calvert.”
“What, then, do you scruple to confide your niece to me?” said he, with a low whisper, in which the tone was more menace than mere inquiry.
“Is this the first time we have ever gone out in a boat together?”
She muttered some assurance of her trustfulness, but so confusedly, and with such embarrassment, as to be scarcely intelligible. “There! that was certainly thunder!” she cried.
“There are not three days in three months in this place without thunder. It is the Italian privilege, I take it, to make always more noise than mischief.”
“But will you go if it threatens so much?” said Miss Grainger.
“Ask Florry. For my part, I think the day will be a glorious one.”
“I’m certain it will,” said Florence, gaily; “and I quite agree with what Harry said last night Disputing about the weather has the same’ effect as firing great guns: it always brings down the rain.”