"How good you are to me! But should you not keep the money? You may need it. Why do you talk of ruin?"
She knew that he would give her all he had, she almost guessed that he would commit a crime rather than lack gold to give her.
"You do not know my father!" he answered. "When he is displeased he threatens to let me starve. He will cut me off some day, and I shall have to turn soldier for a living. Would that not be ruin? You know his last scheme—he wishes me to marry the daughter of a rich glass-maker."
"I know." Arisa laughed contemptuously, "Great joy may your bride have of you! Is she really rich?"
"Yes. But you know that I will not marry her."
"Why not?" asked Arisa quite simply.
Contarini started and looked up at her face in the dim light. She was bending down to him with a very loving look.
"Why should you not marry?" she asked again. "Why do you start and look at me so strangely? Do you think I should care? Or that I am afraid of another woman for you?"
"Yes. I should have thought that you would be jealous." He still gazed at her in astonishment.
"Jealous!" she cried, and as she laughed she shook her beautiful head, and the gold of her hair glittered in the flickering candle-light. "Jealous? I? Look at me! Is she younger than I? I was eighteen years old the other day. If she is younger than I, she is a child—shall I be jealous of children? Is she taller, straighter, handsomer than I am? Show her to me, and I will laugh in her face! Can she sing to you, as I sing, in the summer nights, the songs you like and those I learned by the Kura in the shadow of Kasbek? Is her hair brighter than mine, is her hand softer, is her step lighter? Jealous? Not I! Will your rich wife be your slave? Will she wake for you, sing for you, dance for you, rise up and lie down at your bidding, work for you, live for you, die for you, as I will? Will she love you as I can love, caress you to sleep, or wake you with kisses at your dear will?"