after her, and with a stroke or two of his oar they were in deep
water.

She had seated herself at the end of the boat, half turning her back
to him, so that he could only see her profile. She wore a sterner
look than ever; the low, straight brow was shaded by her hair; the
rounded lips were firmly closed; only the delicate nostril
occasionally gave a wilful quiver. After they had gone on a while in
silence, she began to feel the scorching of the sun; and,
unloosening her bundle, she threw the handkerchief over her head,
and began to make her dinner of the bread; for in Capri she had
eaten nothing.

Antonio did not stand this long; he fetched out a couple of the
oranges with which the baskets had been filled in the morning. "Here
is something to eat to your bread, Laurella," he said. "Don't think
I kept them for you; they had rolled out of the basket, and I only
found them when I brought the baskets back to the boat."

"Eat them yourself; bread is enough for me."

"They are refreshing in this heat, and you have had to walk so far."

"They gave me a drink of water, and that refreshed me."

"As you please," he said, and let them drop into the basket.

Silence again. The sea was smooth as glass. Not a ripple was heard
against the prow. Even the white sea-birds that roost among the
caves of Capri pursued their prey with soundless flight.