Her voice suggested that she wished to please him, but also that she meant what she said. Yet Artois had never felt his age more acutely than when she finished speaking.
“I am a poor companion for Vere,” he said, almost bitterly. “She ought to be with friends of her own age.”
“You mean that I am a poor companion for you, Monsieur Emile. I often feel how good you are to put up with me in the way you do.”
The gayety had gone from her now, and she spoke with an earnestness that seemed to him wonderfully gracious. He looked at her, and his eyes thanked her gently.
“Take Emile out in the boat, Vere,” Hermione said, “while I read a book till dinner time.”
At that moment she longed for them to be gone. Vere looked at her mother, then said:
“Come along, Monsieur Emile. I’m sorry for you, but Madre wants rest.”
She led the way out of the room.
Hermione was on the sofa. Before he followed Vere, Artois went up to her and said:
“You are sure you won’t come out with us, my friend? Perhaps the air on the sea would do you good.”