“Was he so deep or merely forbidding?”
“Neither. He was good-tempered enough, and would answer questions; but he seemed to have nothing to give out. He is a quiet man and inoffensive, but somehow queer.”
“Does he play cards?”
“Not at all.”
“Seem to have money?”
“Yes, as far as I could judge, he appears to have enough to do as he chooses and go where he pleases, though I should say he was not extravagant. He seems to care too little for things.”
“He cares for her, it’s to be supposed.”
“Yes. He could hardly help that, and yet he showed very little emotion in his courting days. I used to see them walking together or sitting on the piazza for hours, and they seemed a strangely silent pair under the circumstances. I got some key to that mystery, however, when I found that he doesn’t know a word of French or Italian; and I had already discovered her limitations in English.”
“Why, good heavens! how can she know the man then? It is not possible. And he may turn out to be anything! Do you think her father could have forced her into this marriage against her will?”
“No, I’m sure he did not. I thought of that, but I’m certain it isn’t so. I think she was in love with the man, as she understood it, in her convent-bred sort of way. He’s good-looking and has a certain gentleness of manner. It may be dulness, but it’s what women like. I think her father, though he felt her a great burden, wanted to do the best he could for her, without too much trouble. He saw plainly the dangers she was surrounded by, and was glad to get her married to a quiet young American, who had no vices and would probably be kind to her. He told me he wanted her to marry an American, because they made the best husbands. Look at them now. It is always the same thing,—either silence or that difficult sort of talk. She has to do the most of it, you see, and in English. He literally knows not a word in any other tongue.”