Outside, it was very hot, for the morning breeze did not yet
stir the brown linen curtains which kept out the glare of the sea, and
myriads of locusts were fiddling their eternal two notes without pause
or change of pitch, in every garden from Massa to Scutari point, which
latter is the great bluff from which they quarry limestone for road
making, and which shuts off the amphitheatre of Sorrento from the view
of Castellamare to eastward. The air was dry, hot and full of life and
sound, as it is in the far south in summer.
"And when do you propose to marry me?" asked Beatrice in a discontented
tone.
"Dearest child," answered her mother, "you speak as though I were
marrying you by force to a man whom you detest."
"That is exactly what you are doing."
The Marchesa raised her eyebrows, fanned herself lazily and smiled.
"Are we to begin the old argument every morning, my dear?" she asked.
"It always ends in the same way, and you always say the same dreadful
things to me. I really cannot bear it much longer. You know very well
that you bound yourself, and that you were quite free to tell San
Miniato that you did not care for him.
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