“Ah!” he cried furiously. “You have heard that village slander. It could only reach you from one source—the lips of the man who left you just now. Don’t you know that when a poor man’s daughter goes wrong it is always the richest man in the neighbourhood who is accused of seducing her? I dare say that rule holds good in Italy as well as in England. I am in earnest, Lisa. I mean no less than I say. Meet me next Monday at the registrar’s office, with your aunt, and with Signor Zinco if you like, to see that the marriage is a good marriage, and we will leave that office as man and wife.”
“No,” she answered doggedly. “Even if you are in earnest it can make no difference to me. I don’t want to be a great lady. People would laugh at me, and I should be miserable. You wouldn’t like la Zia to live in your fine house, would you now?”
“We could make her happy in a house of her own, or send her back to Venice with a comfortable income.”
“Just so. You would want to get rid of la Zia. That would not do for me. She and I have never been parted. And Paolo; you would marry Paolo’s mother; but you would want to send him back to Venice with la Zia, I dare say.”
“It would be the simplest way of solving a difficulty; but if he were necessary to your happiness he should stay with us, Lisa. I would do anything to make you happy.”
She looked at him with a touch of sadness, and shook her head.
“You are a generous lover,” she said, “if you mean what you say; but it is all useless. You could not make me happy; and I could not make you happy. You would very soon be sorry for your sacrifice. You would regret the English lady and her million. I am content as I am—content if not happy. I have as much money as I want, and this room is fine enough for me. If you saw the hovel in which I was reared you would think me a lucky woman to have such a beautiful home. In ten years I shall have saved a fortune, and la Zia and I can go back to Venice and live like ladies on the Canal Grande; or I can go on singing if I’m not tired, and then I shall grow richer every day.”
“Lisa, Lisa, how cold and how cruel you are—cruel to a poor wretch who adores you. To me you are ice, but to Vansittart you are fire. Your face lighted, your whole being awoke to new life, at sight of him.”
Lisa shrugged her shoulders, irritated by his persistency, and provoked into candour.
“Suppose I like him and don’t like you, can I help it? God has made me so,” she said carelessly. “Ah, here is la Zia—la Zia whom you would banish,” she cried, clapping her hands as a key turned in the vestibule door.