The young men did not come back to the ship at night, but went to a hotel, for the greater convenience of seeing the city. They had talked of offering to show Lydia about, but their talk had not ended in anything. Vexed¹ with himself to be vexed at such a thing, Staniford at the bottom of his heart still had a soreness which the constant sight of her irritated. It was in vain that he said there was no occasion, perhaps no opportunity, for her to speak, yet he was hurt that she seemed to have seen nothing uncommon² in his risking his own life for that of a man like Hicks. He had set the action low enough in his own speech; but he knew that it was not ignoble³, and it puzzled him that it should be so passed over. She had not even said a word of congratulation upon his own escape. It might be that she did not know how, or did not think it was her place to speak. She was curiously⁴ estranged⁵. He felt as if he had been away, and she had grown from a young girl into womanhood during his absence. This fantastic conceit⁶ was strongest when he met her with Captain Jenness one day. He had found friends at the hotel, as one always does in Italy, if one's world is at all wide,—some young ladies, and a lady, now married, with whom he had once violently flirted⁷. She was willing that he should envy her husband; that amused him in his embittered⁸ mood; he let her drive him about; and they met Lydia and the captain, walking together. Staniford started up from his lounging ease, as if her limpid⁹ gaze had searched his conscience, and bowed with an air which did not escape his companion.