rdly
deceived. Marietta did not understand Jacopo, and she easily fancied
that because her own character was the stronger she should rule him as
easily as she managed Nella. It did not occur to her that he was already
under the domination of another woman, who might prove to be quite as
strong as she. What she saw was the weakness in his eyes and mouth. With
such a man, she thought, there was little to fear; but there was nothing
to love. If she asked, he would give, if she opposed him, he would
surrender, if she lost her temper and commanded, he would obey with
petulant docility. She should be obliged to take refuge in vanity in
order to get any satisfaction out of her life, and she was not naturally
vain. The luxuries of those days were familiar to her from her
childhood. Though she had not lived in a palace, she had been brought up
in a house that was not unlike one, she ate off silver plates and drank
from glasses that were masterpieces of her father's art, she had coffers
full of silks and satins, and fine linen embroidered with gold thread,
there was always gold and silver in her little wallet-purse when she
wanted anything or wished to give to the poor, she was waited on by a
maid of her own like any fine lady of Venice, and there were a score of
idle servants in a house where there were only two masters--there was
nothing which Contarini could give her that would be more than a little
useless exaggeration of what she had already. She had no particular
desire to show herself unveiled to the world, as married women did, and
she was not especially attracted by the idea of becoming one of them.
She had been brought up alone, she had acquired tastes which other women
had not, and which would no longer be satisfied in her married life, she
loved the glass-house, she delighted in taking a blow-pipe herself and
making small objects which she decorated as she pleased, she felt a
lively interest in her father's experiments, she enjoyed the atmosphere
of his wisdom though it was occasionally disturbed by the foolish little
storms of his hot temper. And until now, she had liked to be often with
Zorzi.

That was past, of course, but the rest remained, and it was much to
sacrifice for the sake of becoming a Contarini, and living on the Grand
Canal with a man she should always despise.

It was clearly not the idea of marriage that surprised or repelled her,
not even of a marriage with a man she did not know and had seen but