“My daughter, sir, has a great future before her; she shall not sacrifice it. She shall not marry out of her class and away from her country and give up what Fortune has laid at her feet. Your fancy, Signor, will pass as it came, and hers—pshaw—she has nothing strong in her but her voice, her voice of an angel.”
Signor Mattei was a single-minded man, though he had not dealt singly with Hugh. The good match for his daughter shrank to nothing compared to the career from which it would shut her out. That underneath lurked some consciousness of the advantage to himself is true; but never would he have dreamed of claiming any like advantages from this other suitor.
Hugh walked on by his side pale and bewildered, a horrible doubt of Violante weakening his arguments and chilling his entreaties. At last he said, desperately, “Signor Mattei, after what has passed I cannot take my answer from you. She told me nothing of a former promise. She must tell me that she has made none, and then I swear to you her life shall have none of the trials you dread. I will either go home and bring you my mother’s words of welcome—my mother herself,” he continued, rashly, “or I will seek no consent at all—none is needed. I would marry her to-morrow if you care for such a test.”
“You in England, Signor, may marry spite of a parent’s curse.”
“Curse! nonsense,” said Hugh, impatiently.
“But here a father’s word is enough. She can give you no answer but mine.”
“I will have an answer from her,” said Hugh; “and if she can tell me she is not promised to that fellow I will never give her up till—till I have persuaded you to take a different view of this.”
“But she is promised, sir, and I refuse to entertain your proposals for her.”
“She never told me so!”
“She is timid,” said Signor Mattei, with a shrug, “timid, and, like all girls, a fool. Enough; I can say no more, Signor. I have the honour to wish you good evening.” And, with a rapidity for which Hugh was unprepared, Signor Mattei darted down a side street, and left him to himself.