"He is, through and through."

"I think so--now. But does he know his own blood? Our blood governs us

when the time comes. He is modest about his intellect. I think it quick,

but I doubt its being strong enough to prove a good restraining

influence."

"Against what?"

"The possible call of the blood that he doesn't understand."

"You speak almost as if he were a child," Hermione said. "He's much

younger than I am, but he's twenty-four."

"He is very young looking, and you are at least twenty years ahead of him

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in all essentials. Don't you feel it?"

"I suppose--yes, I do."

"Mercury--he should be mercurial."

"He is. That's partly why I love him, perhaps. He is full of swiftness."

"So is the butterfly when it comes out into the sun."

"Emile, forgive me, but sometimes you seem to me deliberately to lie down

and roll in pessimism rather as a horse--"

"Why not say an ass?"

She laughed.

"An ass, then, my dear, lies down sometimes and rolls in dust. I think

you are doing it to-night. I think you were preparing to do it this

afternoon. Perhaps it is the effect of London upon you?"

"London--by-the-way, where are you going for your honeymoon? I am sure

you know, though Monsieur Delarey may not."

"Why are you sure?"

"Your face to-night when I asked if it was to be Italian."

She laid her hand again upon his arm and spoke eagerly, forgetting in a

moment his pessimism and the little cloud it had brought across her

happiness.

"You're right; I've decided."

"Italy--and hotels?"

"No, a thousand times no!"

"Where then?"

"Sicily, and my peasant's cottage."

"The cottage on Monte Amato where you spent a summer four or five years

ago contemplating Etna?"

"Yes. I've not said a word to Maurice, but I've taken it again. All the

little furniture I had--beds, straw chairs, folding-tables--is stored in

a big room in the village at the foot of the mountain. Gaspare, the

Sicilian boy who was my servant, will superintend the carrying up of it

on women's heads--his dear old grandmother takes the heaviest things,

arm-chairs and so on--and it will all be got ready in no time. I'm having

the house whitewashed again, and the shutters painted, and the stone

vases on the terrace will be filled with scarlet geraniums, and--oh,

Emile, I shall hear the piping of the shepherds in the ravine at twilight

again with him, and see the boys dance the tarantella under the moon

again with him, and--and--"




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