'I have no experience of men,' she said, with perfect gravity, 'but from your manner, sir, I should judge you to be—about fifty.'
Zeno's jaw dropped, for she spoke so naturally and quietly that he could not believe she was laughing at him.
'I shall be twenty-nine in August,' he answered.
'Only twenty-nine?' Zoë affected great surprise. 'I should have thought you were much, much older! Are you quite sure?'
'Yes.' Carlo laughed. 'I am quite sure. But I suppose I seem very old to you.'
'Oh yes! Very!' She nodded gravely as she spoke.
'You are seventeen, are you not?' Zeno asked.
'How in the world should I know!' she enquired. 'Is not my age set down in the receipt Rustan gave you with me? How should a slave know her own age, sir? And if we knew it, do you think that any of us could speak the truth, except under torture? It would not be worth while to dislocate my arms and burn my feet with hot irons, just to know how old I am, would it? You could not even sell me again, if I had once been tortured!'
'What horrible ideas you have! Imagine torturing this little thing!'
Thereupon, without warning, he took her hand in his and looked at it. She made a very slight instinctive movement to withdraw it, and then it lay quite still and passive.