nk are "arranged" in Italy--arranged
by families or by priests, acting as go-betweens. The lady leaves the
convent, and her marriage is arranged. She is unconscious that she has
a heart--she only discovers that unruly member afterward. To love a
husband is unnecessary; there are so many "golden youths" to choose
from. And the husband has his pastime too. Cosi fan tutti! It is a
round game!

All this time the cavaliere had never taken his eyes off his friend.
To a certain extent he understood what was passing in her mind. A
portionless niece would reveal her poverty.

"A good marriage is a good thing," he suggested, as a safe general
remark, after having waited in vain for some response.

"In all I do," the marchesa answered, loftily, "I must first consider
what is due to the dignity of my position." Trenta bowed.

"Decidedly, marchesa; that is your duty. But what then?"

"No feeling _whatever_ but that will influence me _now_, or
hereafter--nothing." She dwelt upon the last word defiantly, as the
final expression of her mind. Spite of this defiance, there was,
however, a certain hesitation in her manner which did not escape the
cavaliere. As she spoke, she looked hard at him, and touched his arm
to arouse his attention.

Trenta, who knew her so well, perfectly interpreted her meaning. His
ruddy cheeks flushed crimson; his kindly eyes kindled; he felt sure
that his advice would be accepted. She was yielding, but he must
be most cautious not to let his satisfaction appear. So strangely
contradictory was the marchesa that, although nothing could possibly
be more advantageous to her own schemes than this marriage, she might,
if indiscreetly pressed, veer round, and, in spite of her interest,
refuse to listen to another syllable on the subject.

All this kept the cavaliere silent. Receiving no answer, she looked
suspiciously at him, then grasped his arm tightly.

"And you, cavaliere--how long have you been so deeply interested in
Enrica? What is she to you? Her future can only signify to you as far
as it affects myself."

She waited for a reply. What was the cavaliere to answer? He loved
Enrica dearly, but he dared not say so, lest he should offend the
marchesa. He feared that if he spoke he should assuredly say too much.
Well as he knew her, the marchesa's egotism horrified him.

"Poor Enrica!" he muttered, involuntarily, half aloud.

The marchesa caught at the name.

"Enrica?--yes. From the time of my husban