“It pleased me to come.”
She looked doubtful.
“I believe you are birbante,” she said, slowly. “I am nearly sure you are.”
The boy was just getting out, pulling himself up slowly to the boat by his arms, with his wet hands grasping the gunwale firmly. He looked at Vere, with the salt drops running down his sunburnt face, and dripping from his thick, matted hair to his strong neck and shoulders. Again his whole face laughed, as, nimbly, he brought his legs from the water and stood beside her.
“Birbante, Signorina?”
“Yes. Are you from Naples?”
“I come from Mergellina, Signorina.”
Vere looked at him half-doubtfully, but still with innocent admiration. There was something perfectly fearless and capable about him that attracted her.
He rowed in to shore.
“How old are you?” she asked.