There had been a pause. Neither knew how long it had lasted.
“I should not wonder if she is on the cliff,” said Hermione. “She often goes there at this hour. She goes to meet Ruffo.”
The name switched the mind of Artois on to a new and profoundly interesting train of thought.
“Ruffo,” he began slowly. “And you think it wise—?”
He stopped. To-night he no longer dared frankly to speak his mind to Hermione.
“I was at Mergellina the other day,” he said. “And I saw Ruffo with his mother.”
“Did you. What is she like?”
“Oh, like many middle-aged women of the South, rather broad and battered-looking, and probably much older in appearance than in years.”
“Poor woman! She has been through a great deal.”
Her voice was quite genuine now. And Artois said to himself that the faint suspicion he had had was ill-founded.