'Orsino is so apathetic,' said Corona. 'He opens his eyes for a moment and looks at things as though he were going to be interested. Then he closes them again, and does not care what happens. He has no enthusiasm like Ippolito. Nothing interests him, nothing amuses him. He is not happy, and he is not unhappy. You could not surprise him. I sometimes think that you could not hurt him, either. He is young, yet he acts like a man who has seen everything, done everything, heard everything, and tasted everything. He does not even fall in love.'
Corona smiled as she spoke the last words, but her eyes were thoughtful. In her heart, no thoroughly feminine woman can understand that a young man may not be in love for a long time, and may yet be normally sensible.
'I was older than he when you and I met,' observed Giovanni.
'Yes—but you were different. Orsino is not at all like you.'
'Nor Ippolito either.'
'There is more of you in him than you think, Giovanni, though he is so gentle and quiet, and fond of music.'
'The artistic temperament, my dear,—very little like me.'
'There is a curious tenacity under all that.'
'No one has ever thwarted him,' objected Giovanni. 'Or, rather, he has never thwarted anybody. That is a better way of putting it.'
'I believe he has more strength of character than the other three together. Of course, you will say that he is my favourite.'