Artois had not asked his question. But he felt that it was answered.
Gaspare knew. And he knew.
And Hermione—did Fate intend that she should know?
CHAPTER XXXI
It was nearly dawn when Artois fell asleep. He did not wake till past ten o’clock. The servant who brought his breakfast handed him a note, and told him that the ladies of the island had just left the hotel with Gaspare. As Artois took the note he was conscious of a mingled feeling of relief and disappointment. This swift, almost hurried departure left him lonely, yet he could not have met Hermione and Vere happily in the light of morning. To-day he felt a self-consciousness that was unusual in him, and that the keen eyes of women could not surely fail to observe. He wanted a little time. He wanted to think quietly, calmly, to reach a decision that he had not reached at night.
Hermione and Vere had a very silent voyage. Gaspare’s tragic humor cast a cloud about his mistresses. He had met them in the morning with a look of heavy, almost sullen scrutiny in his great eyes, which seemed to develop into a definite demand for information. But he asked nothing. He made no allusion to the night before. To Vere his manner was almost cold. When they were getting into the boat at Santa Lucia she said, with none of her usual simplicity and self-possession, but like one making an effort which was repugnant:
“I’m very sorry about last night, Gaspare.”
“It doesn’t matter, Signorina.”
“Did you get back very late?”