Ruggiero reflected that it would be but the affair of a second to unship the heavy brass tiller and bring it down once on the top of his master's skull. Once would be enough.
"Whose love?" asked Beatrice innocently.
San Miniato looked at her again, then turned away his eyes and sighed audibly.
"Well?" asked Beatrice. "Will you answer. I do not understand that language. Whose love would make any place—Timbuctoo, for instance—a heaven for you?"
"Discretion is the only virtue a man ought to exhibit whenever he has a chance," said San Miniato.
"Perhaps. But even that should be shown without ostentation." Beatrice laughed. "And you are decidedly ostentatious at the present moment. It would interest mamma and me very much to know the object of your affections."
"Beatrice!" exclaimed the Marchesa with affected horror.
"Yes, mamma," answered the young girl. "Here I am. Do you want some more lemonade?"
"She is quite insufferable," said the Marchesa to San Miniato, with a languid smile. "But really, San Miniato carissimo, this conversation—a young girl—-"
Ruggiero wondered what she found so obnoxious in the words that had been spoken. He also wondered how long it would take San Miniato to drown if he were dropped overboard in the wake of the boat.