And it is not at all his affair. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. He turned back at once. Ann Veronica decided she would have to go on with Capes another day, and, looking up, discovered him sitting on a stool with his hands in his pockets and his head a little on one side, regarding her with a thoughtful expression. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. The terror faded from her eyes. The watermen, who manned the larger wherry, immediately shipped their oars, grappled with the drifting skiff, and held it fast. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem.
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