“Very well.”
“I have had a touch of fever, Signora, or I should have come over to the island again. I stayed too long in the sea the other day, or—” He shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” said Hermione. “You are very pale to-night.”
For the first time she looked at him closely, and saw that his face was white, and that his big and boyish eyes held a tired and yet excited expression.
“It is nothing. It has passed. And our friend—Emilio? How is he?”
A hardness had come into his voice. Hermione noticed it.
“We have not seen him lately. I suppose he has been busy.”
“Probably. Emilio has much to do in Naples,” said the Marchesino, with an unmistakable sneer. “Do allow me to escort you to the island, Signora.”
They had reached the boat. Hermione shook her head and stepped in at once.
“Then when may I come?”