“Surely it isn’t going to rain?”
“There is a thunder-storm coming up from Ischia, I believe,” said Artois.
“Then we will take our cloaks in case. It is fearfully hot. I thought so when I was dressing. No doubt the launch will have a cabin.”
A siren hooted.
“That is the Marchesino saluting us!” cried Vere. “Come along, Madre! Maria! Maria!”
She ran out, calling for the cloaks.
“Do you like Vere’s frock, Emile?” said Hermione, as they followed.
“Yes. She looks delicious—but quite like a little woman of the world.”
“Ah, you like her best as the Island child. So do I. Oh, Emile!”
“What is it?”