“Let us go to the cliff,” she said, again, this time with a strong impatience.
He could not, of course, resist her desire, so they moved away, and mounted to the summit of the island.
The children were there. They could just see them in the darkness, Vere seated upon the wooden bench, Ruffo standing beside her. Their forms looked like shadows, but from the shadows voices came.
When he saw them, Artois stood still. Hermione was going on. He put his hand upon her arm to stop her. She sent an almost sharp inquiry to him with her eyes.
“Don’t you think,” he said—“don’t you think it is a pity to disturb them?”
“Why?”
“They seem so happy together.”
He glanced at her for sympathy, but she gave him none.
“Am I to have nothing?” she thought. And a passion of secret anger woke up in her. “Am I to have nothing at all? May I not even speak to this boy, in whom I have seen Maurice for a moment—because if I do I may disturb some childish gossip?”
Her eyes gave to Artois a fierce rebuke.