Vere could not see his face, but she knew at once that he was Ruffo.
Her inclination was to bend down with the soft cry of "Pescator!"
which she had sent to him on the sunny morning of their meeting. She
checked it, why she scarcely knew, in obedience to some imperious
prompting of her nature. But she kept her eyes on him. And they were
full of will. She was willing him not to lie down in the bottom of the
boat and sleep. She knew that he and his companions must have come to
the pool at that hour to rest. There were three other men in the boat.
Two had been sitting on the gunwale of it, and now lay down. The
third, who was in the bows, exchanged some words with the rower, who
replied. Vere could hear the sound of their voices, but not what they
said. The conversation continued for two or three minutes, while Ruffo
was taking in the oars and laying them one on each side of the boat.
When he had done this he stretched up his arms to their full length
above his head, and a loud noise of a prolonged yawn came up to Vere,
and nearly made her laugh. Long as it was, it seemed to her to end
abruptly. The arms dropped down.

She felt sure he had seen her watching, and stayed quite still,
wondering what he was going to do. Perhaps he would tell the other
man. She found herself quickly hoping that he would not. That she was
there ought to be their little secret.

All this that was passing through her mind was utterly foreign to any
coquetry. Vere had no more feeling of sex in regard to Ruffo than she
would have had if she had been a boy herself. The sympathy she felt
with him was otherwise founded, deep down in mysteries beyond the
mysteries of sex.

Again Ruffo and the man who had not lain down spoke together. But the