“And what is your name?”
“Zenobia.”
“Your name is as pretty as you are. Will you give me your hand to kiss?”
“I can’t,” she replied, with a smile, “my hand is another’s.”
“You are engaged, are you?”
“Yes, to a tailor, and we are going to be married before the end of the carnival.”
“Is he rich or handsome?”
“Neither the one nor the other.”
“Then why are you going to marry him?”
“Because I want to have a house of my own.”