rietta, in a tone of
irritating superiority, for she certainly had the best of the
discussion.

They had reached the gondola by this time, and as the servant sat within
hearing at the open door of the 'felse,' they could not continue talking
about such a matter. Beroviero was glad of it, for he regarded the
affair as settled, and considered that it should be hastened to its
conclusion without any further reasoning about it. If he had sent word
to young Contarini that the answer should be given him in a week, that
was merely an imaginary formality invented to cover his own dignity,
since he had so far derogated from it as to allow the young man to see
Marietta. In reality the marriage had been determined and settled
between Beroviero and Contarini's father before anything had been said
to either of the young people. The meeting in the church might have been
dispensed with, if the patrician had been able to answer with certainty
for his wild son's conduct. Jacopo had demanded it, and his father was
so anxious for the marriage that he had communicated the request to
Beroviero. The latter, always for his dignity's sake, had pretended to
refuse, and had then secretly arranged the matter for Jacopo, as has
been seen, without old Contarini's knowledge.

Marietta leaned back under the cool, dark 'felse,' and her hands lay
idly in her lap. She felt that she was helpless, because she was
indifferent, and that she could even now have changed the course of her
destiny if she had cared to make the effort. There was no reason for
making any. She did not believe that she had really loved Zorzi after
all, and if she had, it seemed to-day quite impossible that she should
ever have married him. He was nothing but a waif, a half-nameless
servant, a stranger predestined to a poor and obscure life. As she
inwardly repeated some of these considerations, she felt a little thrust
of remorse for trying to look down on him as impossibly far below her
own station, and a small voice told her that he was an artist, and that
if he had chanced to be born in Venice he would have been as good as her
brothers.

The future stretched out before her in a sort of dull magnificence that
did not in the least appeal to her simple nature. She could not tell why
she had despised Jacopo Contarini from the moment she looked into his
beautiful eyes. Happily women are not expected to explain why they
sometimes judge rightly at first sight, when a wise man is absu