“Gaspare! Gaspare!”
She put her face to the glass. Gaspare, who was standing up in the stern, with his hands holding fast to the rail that edged the cabin roof, bent down till his brown face was on a level with hers, and his big eyes were staring inquiringly into her eyes.
“We are coming out.”
On the other side of the glass Gaspare made violently negative gestures. One word only came to those inside the cabin through the uproar of the elements.
“Impossible!”
“Signorina,” said the Marchesino, “you cannot mean it. But you will be washed off. And the water—you will be drowned. It cannot be.”
“Marchese, look at Madre! If she stays inside another minute she will be ill. She is stifling! Quickly! Quickly!”
The Marchesino, whose sense of humor was not of a kind to comprehend this freak of Vere’s, was for once really taken aback. There were two sliding doors to the cabin, one opening into the bows of the launch, the other into the stern. He got up, looking very grave and rather confused, and opened the former. The wind rushed in, carrying with it spray from the sea. At the same moment there was a loud tapping on the glass behind them. Vere looked round. Gaspare was crouching down with his face against the pane. She put her ear to the glass by his mouth.
“Signorina, you must not go into the bows,” he called. “If you will come out, come here, and I will take care of you.”
He knew Vere’s love of the sea and understood her desire.