Now, however, Beatrice felt that if it had all been arranged for her, she would have been satisfied, but that since San Miniato had played something very like a comedy, she would refuse to be duped by it.

She was very bitter against him in the first revulsion of feeling and treated him more hardly in her thoughts than he, perhaps, deserved.
And there he was, up there by the table, telling her mother of his success.

Her blood rose in her cheeks at the thought and she stamped her foot upon the rock out of sheer anger at herself, at him, at everything and everybody.

Then she moved on.
Ruggiero was standing at the edge of the water looking out to sea.

The moonlight silvered his white face and fair beard and accentuated the sharp black line where his sailor's cap crossed his forehead.