“There are some people who would think you the lovelier. Beauty is not all in all, Lisa. We love because we love.”
“‘We love because we love,’” she repeated slowly. “Ah, that is what makes it so hard. We cannot help ourselves. Love is destiny.”
“Your destiny was in the past, Lisa. It came to you at Burano.”
“No, no, no. I never cared for him as I have cared for you. I was happier in that one day on the Lido, and that one evening in Venice, than in all my life with him. There was more music in your voice when you spoke to me, ever so lightly, than in all he ever said to me of love. You are my destiny.”
“You will think the same about some one else by-and-by, Si’ora—some one whose heart will be free to love you as you deserve to be loved. You are so young and so pretty and so clever that you must needs win a love worth the winning by-and-by, if you will only be reasonable and live a tranquil, self-respecting life in the meanwhile.”
She shook her head hopelessly.
“I shall never care for any one again,” she said. “No other voice would ever sound sweet in my ears. Don’t despise me; don’t think of me as a shameless creature. I was mad just now. I should never have spoken as I did; but I thought you cared for me. You were so kind; you did so much for us.”
“I have tried to do my duty, that was all.”
“Only duty! Well, it was a dream, a lovely dream—and it is over.”
“Let it go with a smile, Lisa. You have so much to make life pleasant—a face that will charm every one; a voice that may make your fortune.”