Neither woman had
until now felt any jealousy of Nina. To their Italian temperament she
had seemed too cold a type, too antipathetic, to be a danger. The
contessa was quite willing to have Giovanni marry the heiress, for she
never doubted that the end of the honeymoon would find him tied more
securely than ever to her own footstool.
Giovanni, at present, with his arms about the dancer, was raining a
succession of kisses upon her lips, her eyes, her hair. He could feel
that she was all on edge about something, but, man-like, he preferred to
keep things on the surface and not stir depths that might be turbulent.
His efforts, however, were of small avail.
"Swear to me by the Madonna, and by your ancestors, that you will not
marry!"
With sudden coldness Giovanni drew away from her. He let both arms hang
limp at his sides. "Why let this thought come always between us!" Then,
exasperated into taking up the discussion, he crossed his arms and faced
her: "We might as well have this out. I am not engaged--I swear that;
but whether I ever shall be or not, you have no cause for jealousy.
Marriage in my world, you know very well, is not a matter of
inclination, but of advantageous arrangement. There is every reason why
I ought to marry, and if that is the case why not one as well as
another? My brother has no children; I am the last of my name.
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