“Si, Signora—much rather.”
There was more in his voice than in his words.
“Thank you, Gaspare,” she said.
“Signora,” he said, “if you think we had better leave the island, let us leave it. Let us go away.”
“Well, but I have never said I wished to go. I am—” she paused. “I have been very contented to be here.”
“Va bene, Signora.”
When they reached the island Hermione felt nervous—almost as if she were to meet strangers who were critical, who would appraise her and be ready to despise her. She told herself that she was mad to feel like that; but when she thought of Emile and Vere talking of her failure—of their secret combined action to keep from her the knowledge of the effort of the child—that seemed just then to her a successful rivalry concealed—she could not dismiss the feeling.
She dreaded to meet Emile and Vere.
“I wonder where they are,” she said, as she got out. “Perhaps they are on the cliff, or out in the little boat. I’ll go into the house.”
“Signora, I will go to the seat and see if they are there.”