'Especially not the women amongst them,' Zoë added, half interrogatively.
'There are none,' said Zeno, as if to cut short the suggestion.
'I see. You do not want your men friends to know that there are women living in your house, do you? They are doubtless all grave and elderly persons, who would be much shocked and grieved to learn that you have bought a pretty Greek slave. After all, you came near being a priest, did you not? They naturally associate you in their minds with the clergy, and for some reason or other you think it just as well for you, or your affairs, that they should! I have always heard that the Venetians are good men of business!'
'You are probably the only person alive who would risk saying that to me,' said Zeno, looking at her.
'What do I risk, my lord?' asked Zoë, with a sort of submissive gravity.
'My anger,' Zeno answered curtly.
'Yes sir, I understand. Your anger—but pray, my lord, how will it show itself? Shall I be beaten, or put in chains and starved, or turned out of your house and sold at auction? Those are the usual punishments for disobedient slaves, are they not?'
'I am not a Greek,' said Zeno, annoyed.
'If you were,' answered Zoë, turning her face from him to hide her smile, 'you would probably wish to tear out my tongue!'
'Perhaps.'