But the doubt thrust itself forward now. Beatrice was quick to doubt at
all times. She was also capricious and changeable about matters which
did not affect her deeply, and those that did were few enough. It was
certainly possible that San Miniato, after all, only wanted her money
and that her mother was willing to give it in return for a great name
and a great position. She felt that if the case had been stated to her
from the first in its true light she might have accepted the situation
without illusion, but without disgust. Everybody, her mother said, was
married by arrangement, some for one advantage, some for the sake of
another. After all, San Miniato was better than most of the rest. There
was a certain superiority about him which she would like to see in her
husband, a certain simple elegance, a certain outward dignity, which
pleased her. But when her mother had spoken in her languid way of the
marriage, Beatrice had resented the denial of her free will, and had
answered that she would please herself or not marry at all. The
Marchesa, far too lacking in energy to sustain such a contest, had
contented herself with her favourite expression of horror at her
daughter's unfilial conduct.
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