"You are quite right," he said angrily. "You are not worth caring for.
You are a mere child, and you are a miserable little flirt already, and
you will be a detestable woman when you grow up! You will lead men on,
and play with them, and then laugh at them. But you shall not laugh at
me again. You shall not have that satisfaction! You shall wish me back,
but I will not come, not if you break your silly little heart!"

With this terrific threat the boy strode away, leaving her to watch the
storm alone in the lee of the sandbank. Aurora knew that he really meant
to go this time, and at first she was rather glad of it, since he was in
such a very bad temper. She felt that he had insulted her, and if he had
stayed any longer she would doubtless have called him a brute, that
being the woman's retort under the circumstances. She had not the
slightest doubt of being quite reconciled with him before luncheon, of
course, but in her heart she wished that she had not made him angry. It
had been very pleasant to watch the storm together, and when they had
come to the place, she had felt a strong presentiment that he would kiss
her, and that the contrast between the kiss and the howling gale would
be very delightful.

The presentiment had certainly not come true, and now that Marcello was
gone it was not very amusing to feel the spray and the sand on her
face, or to watch the tumbling breakers and listen to the wind. Besides,
she had been there some time, and she had not even had her little
breakfast of coffee and rolls before coming down to the shore. She
suddenly felt hungry and cold and absurdly inclined to cry, and she
became aware that the sand had got into her russet shoes, and that it
would be very uncomfortable to sit down in such a place to take them off
and shake it out; and that, altogether, misfortunes never come singly.