"Giuseppe!"
"Commanda, Eccellenza!"
The man came forward.
With a voice sharp and clear, she gave the order to return at once to
Venice. Cliffe watched her, the veins on his forehead swelling. She knew
that he debated with himself whether he should give a counter-order or
no.
"A Venezia!" said Kitty, waving her hand towards the sailors, her eyes
shining under the tangle of her hair.
The helm was put round, and beneath a tacking sail the boat swept
southward.
With an awkward laugh Cliffe fell back into his seat, stretching his
long limbs across the boat. He had spoken under a strong and genuine
impulse. His passion for her had made enormous strides in these few wild
days beside her. And yet the fantastic poet's sense responded at a touch
to the new impression. He shook off the heroic mood as he had doffed his
Bosnian cloak. In a few minutes, though the heightened color remained,
he was chatting and laughing as though nothing had happened.
* * * * *
She, exhausted physically and morally by her conflict with him, hardly
spoke on the way home. He entertained her, watching her all the time--a
hundred speculations about her passing through his brain.
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