“You were not at the island yesterday, Emilio?”
“No. Were you?”
“I naturally called to know how the ladies were after that terrible storm. What else could I do?”
“And how were they?”
“The Signora was in Naples, and of course the Signorina could not have received me alone. But the saints were with me, Emilio. I met her on the sea; quite by herself, on the sea of the Saint’s pool. She was lying back in a little boat, with no hat on, her hands behind her head—so, and her eyes—her beautiful eyes, Emilio, were full of dreams, of dreams of the sea.”
“How do you know that?” said Artois, rather sharply.
“Cosa?”
“How do you know the Signorina was dreaming of the sea? Did she—did she tell you?”
“No, but I am sure. We walked together from the boats. I told her she was an enchantress of the sea, the spirit of the wave—I told her!”
He spread out his hands, rejoicing in the remembrance of his graceful compliments.