'But she is very poor,' suggested Zoë. 'She has no dowry.'
'Who says so?' asked Omobono indignantly. 'The house of Sebastian Polo is as prosperous as any in Constantinople! He is as rich as any Venetian here except, perhaps, Marin Cornèr!'
'Then it is true that the master is going to marry his daughter,' Zoë replied, as if stating a fact that could no longer be denied.
She was rapidly working the secretary into a state of excitement in which his Latin grammar went to the winds.
'No, indeed!' he cried. 'It is altogether a lie! Who has told you such things?'
'She is young, pretty, fresh as roses, and very rich,' said Zoë, recapitulating. 'Did you not say so?'
'Yes——'
'And the master goes to dine in her father's house three times a week——'
'Perhaps——'
'Do you suppose that Polo would invite the master so often unless he wanted him for his daughter?'