“I couldn't pass his examination—too difficult!” said Gwendolyn, with a laugh. “I think that he is looking for a world-beater—a girl who could win the first prize in a golf tournament or a beauty show or a competition in mathematics. What chance have I? He thinks that he has got to be a rich man before he gets married. What chance has he?” Clearly she wanted me to know that she liked him and resented his apparent indifference. I suppose that he had not fallen down before her, as other boys had done, and she could not quite make him out. Probably that's why she preferred him.
“He has wonderful self-possession,” I said.
“Yes, he'll never let go of himself. All the girls say that about him. He's a wise youngster.”
“If he were in my place I don't believe he could hold out through the day,” I declared.
“She does look well, doesn't she?” said Mrs. Norris, as she proudly surveyed her daughter. “Italy agrees with her, and she loves it and the people.”
“So do I,” was my answer. “The Italian people, who are doing the work of Italy, are admirable. Out in the vineyards you will find young men who are even good enough for Gwendolyn. It's these idle horse-traders that I object to—these fellows who are trying to swap a case of spavined respectability for a fortune.”
“Oh, you're a mountain of prejudice!” Mrs. Norris exclaimed. “Now, there's the Princess Carrero. She was an American girl, and she is the happiest, proudest woman in Italy. Her husband is one of the finest gentlemen I ever met.”
“He's a dear!” Gwendolyn echoed.
“For my part I think that international marriages are a fine thing,” Mrs. Norris went on. “They are drawing the races together into one brotherhood.”
“But such a brotherhood will be hard on our sisterhood,” I objected. “A wife here is the chief hired girl. Often if she doesn't mind she gets licked, and if she's an American she must always pay the bills.”