"Are you sure, Gaspare?"
"Si, signora! The padrone has not come back. He is not here."
The boy's voice sounded angry, Hermione thought. It startled her. And the
way he looked at her startled her too.
"You have looked in the house? Maurice!" she called. "Maurice!"
"I say the padrone is not here, signora!"
Never before had Gaspare spoken to Hermione like this, in a tone almost
that she ought to have resented. She did not resent it, but it filled her
with a creeping uneasiness.
"What time is it? Nearly half-past nine. He ought to be here by now."
The boy nodded, keeping his flaming eyes on her.
"I said nine to give him lots of time to get cool, and change his
clothes, and--it's very odd."
"I will go down to the sea, signora. A rivederci."
He swung round to go, but Hermione caught his arm.
"No; don't go. Wait a moment, Gaspare. Don't leave me like this!"
She detained him.
"Why, what's the matter? What--what are you afraid of?"
Instantly there came into his face the ugly, obstinate look she had
already noticed, and wondered at, that day.
"What are you afraid of, Gaspare?" she repeated.
Her voice vibrated with a strength of feeling that as yet she herself
scarcely understood.
"Niente!" the boy replied, doggedly.
"Well, but then"--she laughed--"why shouldn't the padrone be a few
minutes late? It would be absurd to go down. You might miss him on the
way."
Gaspare said nothing. He stood there with his arms hanging and the ugly
look still on his face.
"Mightn't you? Mightn't you, Gaspare, if he came up by Marechiaro?"
"Si, signora."
"Well, then--"
They stood there in silence for a minute. Hermione broke it.
"He--you know how splendidly the padrone swims," she said. "Don't you,
Gaspare?"
The boy said nothing.
"Gaspare, why don't you answer when I speak to you?"
"Because I've got nothing to say, signora."
His tone was almost rude. At that moment he nearly hated Hermione for
holding him by the arm. If she had been a man he would have struck her
off and gone.
"Gaspare!" she said, but not angrily.
Her instinct told her that he was obliged to be utterly natural just then
under the spell of some violent feeling. She knew he loved his padrone.
The feeling must be one of anxiety. But it was absurd to be so anxious.
It was ridiculous, hysterical. She said to herself that it was Gaspare's
excitement that was affecting her. She was catching his mood.