He rowed in to shore.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Sixteen years old, Signorina."

"I am sixteen, too."

They reached the islet, and Vere got out. The boy followed her,
fastened the boat, and moved away a few steps. She wondered why, till
she saw him stop in a sun-patch and let the beams fall full upon him.

"You aren't afraid of catching cold?" she asked.

He threw up his chin. His eyes went to the cigarettes.

"Yes," said Vere, in answer to the look, "you shall have one. Here!"

She held out the packet. Very carefully and neatly the boy, after
holding his right hand for a moment to the sun to get dry, drew out a
cigarette.

"Oh, you want a match!"

He sprang away and ran lightly to the boat. Without waking his
companions he found a matchbox and lit the cigarette. Then he came
back, on the way stopping to get into his jersey.

Vere sat down on a narrow seat let into the rock close to the sun-
patch. She was nursing the dolce on her knee.