“Go, Vere,” said Hermione.
The Marchesino shut the door and stood by it, bending and looking doubtful.
“I will stay here with the Marchese. I am really too old to face such a tempest, and the Marchese has no coat. He simply can’t go.”
“But, Signora, it does not matter! I am ready.”
“Impossible. Your clothes would be ruined. Go along, Vere! Turn up your collar.”
She spoke almost as if to a boy, and like a gay boy Vere obeyed her and slipped out to Gaspare.
“You really won’t come, Madre?”
“No. But—tell me if you see the light.”
The girl nodded, and the door moved into its place, shutting out the wind.
Then the Marchesino sat down and looked at his damp patent-leather boots.