“A watch-dog, Signora! But do you like to be watched? Is it not unpleasant?”
He was speaking now to get rid of the impression his first remark had evidently made upon her.
“I think it depends how,” she replied. “If Gaspare watches me it is only to protect me—I am sure of that.”
“But, Signora, do you not trust Don Emilio, do you not trust me, to be your watch-dogs to-night at the festa?”
There was a little pressure in his voice, but he still preserved his light and boyish manner. And now he turned to Vere.
“Speak for us, Signorina! Tell the Signora that we will take care of her to-night, that there is no need of the faithful Gaspare.”
Vere looked at him gravely. She had wondered a little why her mother had brought Gaspare, why, at least, she had not left him free till they returned to the boat at Santa Lucia. But her mother wanted him to come with them, and that was enough for her. She opened her lips, and Artois thought she was going to snub her companion. But perhaps she suddenly changed her mind, for she only said:
“Who would trust you, Marchese?”
She met his eyes with a sort of child’s impertinence. She had abruptly become the Vere of the Scoglio di Frisio.
“Who would take you for a watch-dog?”