She
said, 'The girl is beautiful, but she has no money, and I tell you to
think twice.' I have been trapped here by all you women. You all
knew."

He pointed an accusing finger at Signora Carosi. She sobbed
helplessly, bitterly, as she tried to answer him, and Olive, who had
waited in the shadow by the door, hoping that he would move on and
enable her to pass into her own room, came forward and stood beside
her aunt. She had thought she would feel abashed before this man who
had been wronged, but he had made her angry instead, and now she would
not have left the room if he had asked her, or have told him the truth
if he had begged for it.

"Many girls have been offered me," he went on excitedly, "but I would
not hear of them because you were beautiful, and I thought you would
make a good wife. There was Annina Giannini; she had five thousand
lire, and more to come, and now she is married to a doctor in Lucca. I
gave her up for you, and you are dust of the streets."

Gemma flinched then as though he had struck her. The insult was
flagrant, and it was time to make an end. She rose from her chair
slowly, as though she were very tired, and filled her glass from the
decanter on the table with a hand that trembled so that half the wine
was spilled.

"Orazio," she said, and her dark eyes sought his and held them so that
he was compelled to stand still looking at her. "Orazio, I hope you
and your ugly fool of a mother will die slowly of a horrible disease,
and be tormented in hell for ever. May your flesh be covered with
sores while your bones rot and are gnawed by worms. _Cosi sia!_"

She crossed herself devoutly, and then drank some of the wine and
flung the glass over her shoulder. It fell to the floor and crashed to
splinters.

The man's jaw dropped and his mouth fell open, but he had no words to
answer her. She made a curious movement with her hands as though she
would cleanse them of some impurity, and then turned and went quickly
into her own room. They all heard the bolts drawn and the key turned
in the lock.

Olive was the first to speak, and her voice sounded strange and
unnatural to herself.

"She has said her say and left us, Signor Lucis. Will you not go too?
You will not marry her. _Benissimo!_ We wish you good-evening."

"You are very easy, signorina _mia_," he answered resentfully; "but I
cannot forgive."

"Who asked your forgiveness?" she retorted. "It is you who should beg
our pardon--you, who a