"Aunt Gitta is dead and has left all her money to an orphanage; she wanted to change her will to one in my favour, at the last moment, but died before she could sign the new one."
An oath broke from Valentini's lips.
"And so you are a beggar!"
"Yes," assented Ragna wearily,—what was the use of disputing the fact? Valentini felt his Castle in Spain crash about his ears. He had never ceased to hope that Fru Boyesen would become reconciled to the marriage of her niece, and he had never thought that in any circumstances, she would leave her niece penniless, even if she disposed of the bulk of her fortune in another way. He felt as though the ground had suddenly slipped from beneath his feet, and instinctively turned on the involuntary source of his disappointment.
"I suppose that that is one of your charming national customs? Santo Dio, why was I ever so left to myself as to marry a Norwegian?"
Ragna let the sarcasm fall unheeded, so with a rising intonation he tried again.
"You prate about honesty, yet you inveigled me into a marriage, by giving me to understand that you were your Aunt's heiress—yet you knew all the time what might be expected! Oh, yes, I have had a refreshing experience of Norwegian honesty and straightforwardness!"
She smiled disdainfully.
"Permit me, it was not I who held out any hopes of future riches, your memory misleads you. But had you been frank, Egidio, had you told me then your real reason for wishing to marry me, be very sure that I should have declined the honour."
"Yes," he sneered, "now lie about it. When it suits your convenience, you lie worse than anyone I ever heard. And your airs and graces! One would think you sprang from 'la cuisse de Jupiter.' You were not quite so high and mighty when I married you! To exchange the gutter for a comfortable home—"