“Oh no, Madre. Only a few minutes. But, really, won’t you?” Vere laid her hand on her mother’s. “It’s so lovely on the sea to-night.”
“I know. But honestly, I’m lazy to-night.”
Vere looked disappointed. She took away her hand gently.
“Then we’ll stay with you, won’t we, Monsieur Emile?”
“No, Vere,” said her mother quickly, before he could answer. “You two go. I sha’n’t be dull. You won’t be very long?”
“No, of course. But—”
“Go, dearest, go. Are you going to row, Emile?”
“I could. Or shall we take Gaspare?”
“It’s Gaspare’s supper-time,” said Vere.
“Hush, then!” said Artois, putting his finger to his lips. “Let us creep down softly, or he will think it his duty to come with us, starving, and that would spoil everything. Au revoir, Hermione,” he whispered.