he answer to
his questionings. And he knew that his vexation arose from the secret
apprehension of a future in which he would desire to stand between her
and the Marchesino with clean hands, and tell Doro certain truths which
are universal, not national. Such truths would come ill from one whom
the lectured held unclean.

As he walked home to the hotel his vexation grew.

When he was once more in his room he remembered his remark to Hermione,
"We shall have many quiet, happy evenings together this summer, I hope,"
and her strange and doubtful reply. And because he felt himself invaded
by her doubts he resolved to set out for the island. If he took a boat
at once he could be there between six and seven o'clock.

And perhaps he would see the new occupant of the Casa del Mare. Perhaps
he would see Peppina.

CHAPTER XVI

"I have come, you see," said Artois that evening, as he entered
Hermione's room, "to have the first of our quiet, happy evenings, about
which you were so doubtful."

"Was I?"

She smiled at him from her seat between the big windows.

Outside the door he had, almost with a sudden passion, dismissed the
vague doubts and apprehensions that beset him. He came with a definite
brightness, a strong intimacy, holding out his hands, intent really on
forcing Fate to weave her web in accordance with his will.

"We women are full of little fears, even the bravest of us. Chase mine
away, Emile."

He sat down.

"What are they?"

She shook her head.

"Formless--or almost. But perhaps that adds to the uneasiness they
inspire. To put them into words would be impossible."

"Away with them!"

"Willingly."

Her eyes seemed to be asking him questions, to be not quite satisfied,
not quite sure of something.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I wonder if you have it in you to be angry with me."

"Make your confession."

"I have Peppina here."

"Of course."

"You knew--?"

"I have known you as an impulsive for--how many years? Why should you
change?"

He looked at her in silence for a moment. Then he continued:

"Sometimes you remind me--in spots, as it were--of George Sand."

She laughed, not quite without bitterness.

"In spots, indeed!"

"She described herself once in a book as having 'a great facility' for
illusions, a blind benevolence of judgment, a tenderness of heart that
was inexhaustible--"

"Oh!"

"Wait! From these qualities, she said, came hurry, mistakes innumerable,
heroic dev