The Marchesino showed his big white teeth. Everything that Vere did seemed to develop his admiration for her. He was delighted with this mood, and forgot his disappointment. But there was a glint of wonder in his eyes, and now he said:
“But the Signorina is not afraid! She does not cry out! She does not call upon the Madonna and the Saints! My mother, my sisters, if they were here—”
The prow of the launch struck a wave which burst over the bows, scattering spray to the roof of the cabin.
“But I like it, I love it!” said Vere. “Don’t you?—don’t you, Madre?”
Before Hermione could reply the Marchesino exclaimed:
“Signorina, in the breast of an angel you have the heart of a lion! The sea will never harm you. How could it? It will treat you as it treats the Saint of your pool, San Francesco. You know what the sailors and the fishermen say? In the wildest storms, when the sea crashes upon the rocks, never, never does it touch San Francesco. Never does it put out the lamp that burns at San Francesco’s feet.”
“Yes, I have heard them say that,” Vere said.
Suddenly her face had become serious. The romance in the belief of the seamen had got hold of her, had touched her. The compliment to herself she ignored. Indeed, she had already forgotten it.
“Only the other night—” she began.
But she stopped suddenly.