"Of course I like him," said Beppa, freeing herself. "How cold your hands are, Denza—ugh!"
"You ain't marrying him for his furniture? You love him for himself—and better than any one else in the whole world?" Prudence went on, solemnly.
"Oh, how comical you do look, standing there talking about love, with your white hair and your great big basket!" said Beppa, breaking into irrepressible laughter. The cold had not made her hideous, as it makes so many Italians hideous; her face was not empurpled, her fine features were not swollen. She looked handsome. What was even more attractive on such a day, she looked warm. As her merriment ceased, a sudden change came over her. "Sainted Maria! she doubts whether I love him! Love him? Why, you poor old woman, I'd die for him to-morrow. I'd cut myself in pieces for him this minute." Her great black eyes gleamed; the color flamed in her oval cheeks; she gave a rich, angry laugh.
It was impossible to doubt her, and Prudence did not doubt. "Well, I'm right down glad, Bepper," she said, in a softened tone—"right down glad, my dear." She was thinking of her own love for the girl's father.
"I was coming up," continued Beppa, "because I thought I'd better talk it over with you."
"Of course," said Prudence, cordially. "A girl can't get married all alone; nobody ever heard of that."
"I sha'n't be much alone, for Giuseppe's family's a very big one; too big, I tell him—ten brothers and sisters. But they're all well off, that's one comfort. Of course I don't want to shame 'em."
"Of course not," said Prudence, assenting again. Then, with the awakened memories still stirring in her heart: "It's a pity your father isn't here now," she said, in a moved tone; "he'd have graced a wedding, Bepper, he was so handsome." She seldom spoke of Tonio; the subject was too sacred; but it seemed to her as if she might venture a few words to this his daughter on the eve of her own marriage.
"Yes, it's a pity, I suppose," answered Beppa. "Still, he would have been an old man now. And 'tain't likely he would have had a good coat either—that is, not such a one as I should call good."
"Yes, he would; I'd have made him one," responded Prudence, with a spark of anger. "This whole basket's full of coats now."