Lycabetta gave a little laugh of disdain.
“A handsome fool with a foolish hand. How did he carry himself when you put him by?”
“He was bright with wine,” Glycerium answered. “He swore a Greek oath or two, but he left you this pearl.”
Glycerium handed a great, round pearl to Lycabetta, who took it from her with indifference, weighing it lightly in the hollow of her hand.
“It is rare and fair,” she commented, “but I will not wear it. There is no jewel in the world that is worth what it hides of my whiteness. Who else?”
Glycerium thought for a moment before she answered,
“Messer Gian Sanminiato.”
Lycabetta sneered at the name.
“The court poet who would pay for favors with phrases and runs aside to rhyme a sonnet every time he wins the kiss of a lip. What did he say?”