“Run and see if Don Emilio is in a hurry, Gaspare. If he is I’ll come.”
Gaspare looked at her, hesitating.
“What’s the matter?” she exclaimed, her secret irritation suddenly getting the upper hand in her nature. “Are you afraid that Ruffo will hurt me?”
“No, Signora.”
As Vere had reddened, he reddened, and he looked with deep reproach at his Padrona. That look went to Hermione’s heart; she thought, “Am I going to quarrel with the one true and absolutely loyal friend I have?” She remembered Vere’s words in the garden about Gaspare’s devotion to her, a devotion which she felt like a warmth round about her life.
“I’ll come with you, Gaspare,” she said, with a revulsion of feeling. “Good-night, Ruffo.”
“Good-night, Signora.”
“Perhaps we shall see you to-morrow.”
She was just going to turn away when Ruffo bent down to kiss her hand. Since she had given charity to his mother it was evident that his feeling for her had changed. The Sicilian in him rose up to honor her like a Padrona.
“Signora,” he said, letting go her hand. “Benedicite e buon riposo.”