But she was sure that she had
not promised anything.
At that moment in her meditations she heard the tread of a man's heel on
the rocks. The sailors were all barefoot, and she knew it must be San
Miniato. Unwilling to be alone with him even for a minute, she sprang
lightly forward to meet him as he came. He held out his hand to help
her, but she refused it by a gesture and hurried on.
"I have been speaking with your mother," he said, trying to take
advantage of the thirty or forty yards that still remained to be
traversed.
"So I suppose, as I left you together," she answered in a hard voice. "I
have been talking to Ruggiero."
"Has anything displeased you, Beatrice?" asked San Miniato, surprised by
her manner.
"No. Why do you call me Beatrice?" Her tone was colder than ever.
"I suppose I might be permitted--"
"You are not."
San Miniato looked at her in amazement, but they were already within
earshot of the Marchesa, who had not moved from her long chair, and he
did not risk anything more, not knowing what sort of answer he might
get. But he was no novice, and as soon as he thought over the situation
he remembered others similar to it in his experience, and he understood
well enough that a sensitive young girl might feel ashamed of having
shown too much feeling, or might have taken offence at some detail in
his conduct which had entirely escaped his own notice.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169