“Well,” said Hermione, when Ruffo had disappeared. “Will you come in? I’m afraid all the servants are in bed, but—”
“No, indeed it is too late,” Artois said.
Without being aware of it he spoke with an authority that was almost stern.
“We must be off to our fishing,” he added. “Good-night. Good-night, Vere.”
“Good-night, Signora.”
The Marchesino bowed, with his hat in his hand. He kissed Hermione’s hand again, but he did not try to take Vere’s.
“Good-night,” Hermione said.
A glance at Artois had told her much that he was thinking.
“Good-night, Monsieur Emile,” said Vere. “Good-night, Marchese. Buona pesca!”
She turned and followed her mother into the house.