Lawrence made no movement to accede to her demand. He flung away his own half-burnt cigar.
"Give me one, please."
"No. I prefer that you shouldn't smoke here in public."
"Oh!"
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her husband; then she burst into a light laugh, and turned to look again at the river. Lawrence glanced at her, then he, too, gazed at the water.
A little shallop shot into sight close to the battery. It was rowed by a man who looked up and saw the two. He lifted his cap; he stared persistently at the woman, his eyes showing an open admiration. Then his boat glided on towards the wharves.
"Is that Meramble?"
"Yes; quite an Italianized-looking man, isn't he?"
There was a slight access of color on Lawrence's face, but his voice was perfectly even in its lightness, as he responded:
"Was that an Italianized stare he gave you?"