"You need never try," said Susanna. "He will do."
"What?" said the Commendatore.
"He will do," said she. "We'll have a grand wedding in the Cathedral. The Bishop shall officiate, in his very best cope and mitre, and you, with your grandest flourish, shall give the bride away."
The Commendatore shrugged his shoulders, and gazed for commiseration at the sky.
"You are incomprehensible," he said. "Haven't I spent an hour telling you he is affianced to a lady in England?"
"No," said Susanna; "only something like ten minutes."
"Brrr," said the Commendatore, contemptuous of the quibble.
"And anyhow, I shall marry him," said Susanna. "You have made me quite fall in love with him, by your glowing description—and I rather liked him before. The lady in England is neither here nor there. We 'll be married in the Cathedral, where so many generations of our ancestors have been married. His friend Mr. Willes shall be best man; and the Pontes shall pontificate in their most British manner, with wedding-favours sent out from London. And so the ancient legitimate line of the Valdeschi shall be restored."
"You are mad," said the Commendatore, simply.
"And you shall offer us a wedding-breakfast at the Villa Fregi," she pursued. "We 'll have all sorts of nice things to eat and drink, and you shall propose the health of the bride, and make a magnificent speech. And I shall wear my coronet—which I have never yet worn—for then I shall be the Countess of Sampaolo with a clear right to the title. And now I 'll tell you a secret. Would you like me to tell you a secret?" she inquired.