But this state of mind did not by
any means imply that she would marry him with a good grace, or ever
again return in her behaviour towards him to the point she had reached
on the previous evening. That, thought Beatrice, would be too much to
expect, and was certainly more than she intended to give. She would be
quite willing to show that she had been deceived into consenting, and
was only keeping her word as a matter of principle. San Miniato might
think what he pleased. She knew that whatever she did, he would never
think of breaking off the engagement, since what he wanted was not
herself but her fortune. She shut her parasol with a rather vicious snap
as she went into the cool hall out of the sun, and the hard look in her
face was more accentuated than before, as she slowly ascended the steps.
The conversation between her mother and San Miniato during her short
absence had been characteristic. They understood each other perfectly
but neither would have betrayed to the other, by the merest hint, the
certainty that the marriage was by no means agreeable to poor Beatrice
herself.
"Dearest Marchesa," said San Miniato, touching her hand with his lips,
and then seating himself beside her, "tell me that you are not too much
exhausted after your exertions last night? Have you slept well? Have you
any appetite?"
"What a good doctor you would make, dear friend!" exclaimed the Marchesa
with a little smile.
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