, he threw up his hands and talked to
himself for a moment, uttering many exclamations. In truth, he was
utterly amazed. Maria Fortunata had spread abroad diligently the fame of
her niece's beauty, and the Marchesino, like the rest of the gay young
men of Naples, had known of and had misjudged her. He had read in the
papers of the violence done to her, and had at once dismissed her from
his mind with a muttered "Povera Ragazza!"

She was no longer beautiful.

And now he discovered her living as a servant with the ladies of the
island. Who could have put her there? He thought of Emilio's colloquy
with Maria Fortunata. But the Signora? A mother? What did it all mean?
Even the madness of the English could scarcely be so pronounced as to
make such a proceeding as this quite a commonplace manifestation of the
national life and eccentricity. He could not believe that.

He stepped into his boat. As the sailors rowed it out from the Pool--the
wind had gone down and the sails were useless--he looked earnestly up to
the windows of the Casa del Mare, longing to pierce its secrets.

What was Emilio in that house? A lover, a friend, a bad genius? And the
Signora? What was she?

The Marchesino was no believer in the virtue of women. But the lack of
beauty in Hermione, and her age, rendered him very doubtful as to her
role in the life on the island. Vere's gay simplicity had jumped to the
eyes. But now she, too, was becoming something of a mystery.

He traced it all to Emilio, and was hot with a curiosity that was linked
closely with his passion.

Should he go to see Emilio? He considered the question and resolved not
to do so. He would try to be patient until the night of the dinner on
the island. He would be birbante, would play the fox, as Emilio surely
had done. The Panacci temper should find out that one member of the
family could control it, when such control served his purpose.

He was on fire with a lust for action as he made his resolutions. Vere's
coolness to him, even avoidance of him, had struck hammer-like blows
upon his _amour propre_. He saw her now--yes, he saw her--coming
down the stairs behind Peppina. Had they been together? Did they talk
together, the cold, the prudish Signorina Inglese--so he called Vere now
in his anger--and the former decoy of Maria Fortunata?

And then a horrible conception of Emilio's role in all this darted into
his mind, and for a moment he thought of Hermione as a blind innocent,