She lifted her delicate eyebrows inquiringly.
'Well—not of other people's virtue: one tires of one's own perhaps.'
'But it's so seldom one has the chance of that,' added Gasparo lightly, pulling with one hand at the fringe of the big parasol. He had distinctly heard what had been said to Dino; but now, as his eye rested upon him, he nodded in a half-careless, half-friendly manner. 'She's going better now. We shall get more wind beyond the breakwater, eh, lad?'
'Yes, sir,' said Dino, putting on his cap again and going forward to coil away a loose rope.
Everything he had noticed in the last day or two made him feel safer about Gasparo. The young Marchese was an excellent sailor; he was absorbed in his present amusement; the two young men had not exchanged a word unconnected with the management of the boat.
Those three last days had seemed to Dino to pass like a dream. After his sedentary habits of life between the four walls of an office, the mere fact of being always out-of-doors and always actively employed would have sufficed to change all his impressions. He was intoxicated with fresh air, with sunlight, and the exhilarating sense of energetic work. 'There's no life like it, lad; no life like it,' old Drea told him more than once. 'Other men may make a better living, I'm not denying it; but to be content with what one gets in this world is to be the master of it. When you're as old as I am you'll find that you can't put one foot in two shoes, boy; it's a good plan to know what you want and be contented with it when you've got it—a rare good plan.'
'If only wanting were enough to get it,' said Dino bitterly.
'Lad, lad! Bisogna dar tempo al tempo—give time time enough to work in. But you youngsters are all alike; you expect to smell fried fish before the nets are even cast into the water.'
'That 'ud be a poor look-out for supper,' observed silent Maso with a grin.
'What! were you listening to what I was saying? Then I'm bound you'll be whistling for a wind before long, my boy;—you know the old saying, when you see a donkey listening it's a sign the weather is changing,' retorted old Drea, shifting his pipe in his mouth and giving vent to a dry chuckle.